This was somewhat enigmatic, to say the least of it, and the cardinal was not quite sure whether he understood it.  He should be very sorry, he said, to think that his old friend’s daughter meant to cut herself off from the world in which she had so important a part to play.  Of course, he had no longer any actual authority by which to direct her actions.  She was of age, and if she chose to live alone, without so much as an elderly companion, no one could hinder her.  To this Veronica promptly answered that she had come to Bianca’s house in order not to be alone.

“And why,” inquired the cardinal, watching her face keenly, “have you determined that you will no longer live with your aunt Macomer, who is your only near relative and your natural companion?”

This was the real question, and Veronica had hoped that he would not ask it; but being a good diplomatist, and knowing how hard it would be to answer, the wise prelate had kept it back as a hammer with which to drive the wedges he had previously inserted one by one.

“I had understood that you were always the best of friends,” he added, while she was silent for a moment.

“We have not agreed so well lately,” said Veronica.  “Besides, you could hardly expect me to be happy in a house where such horrible things have lately happened.”

“You could live somewhere else, and have your aunt with you,” suggested the cardinal.

“You do not understand!” Veronica smiled.  “That would be quite impossible.  She has always been accustomed to being mistress in the house, and if she lived with me, she would be my guest.  She would not like to accept that position.  Just imagine!  I would not even let her order dinner.”

“You might let her do that, by way of a compromise, my child.”

“Oh—­but she does it abominably!  That is one reason for not living with her!”

The cardinal could not help laughing at Veronica’s statement of the case.

“I see,” he said.  “She poisoned you!” And he laughed again.

“Yes,” answered Veronica.  “That was exactly it.  She poisoned us all.”

She smiled to herself at the terrible truth of the words which so much amused the cardinal; but she continued to talk in the same strain, giving him the infinity of small reasons, under which a clever woman will hide her chief one, confusing a man’s impression of the whole by her superior handling of its parts, exaggerating the one detail and belittling the next, until all proportion and true perspective are lost, and the man leaves her with the sensation of having been delicately taken to pieces, and put together again with his face turned backwards, over his shoulders.