And Clementina answered him simply,—­

“I think it very likely that they had so much skill;” and Wogan ran down the stairs into the street.  He forced his way through the crowd to the point where Whittington’s face had shown, but his hesitation, his question, had consumed time.  Whittington had vanished.  Nor did he appear again for some while in Bologna.  Wogan searched for him high and low.  Here was another difficulty added to the reluctance of his King, the pride of his Queen.  Whittington had a piece of dangerous knowledge, and could not be found.  Wogan said nothing openly of the man’s treachery, though he kept very safely the paper in which that treachery was confessed.  But he did not cease from his search.  He was still engaged upon it when he received the summons from Cardinal Origo.  He hurried to the palace, wondering what new thing had befallen, and was at once admitted to the Cardinal.  It was no bad thing, at all events, as Wogan could judge from the Cardinal’s smiling face.

“Mr. Wogan,” said he, “our Holy Father the Pope wishes to testify his approbation of your remarkable enterprise on behalf of a princess who is his god-daughter.  He bids me hand you, therefore, your patent of Roman Senator, and request you to present yourself at the Capitol in Rome on June 15, when you will be installed with all the ancient ceremonies.”

Wogan thanked his Eminence dutifully, but laid the patent on the table.

“You hardly know what you refuse,” said his Eminence.  “The Holy Father has no greater honour to bestow, and, believe me, he bestows it charily.”

“Nay, your Eminence,” said Wogan, “I do not undervalue so high a distinction.  But I had three friends with me who shared every danger.  I cannot accept an honour which they do not share; for indeed they risked more than I did.  For they hold service under the King of France.”

The Cardinal was pleased to compliment Wogan upon his loyalty to his friends.

“They shall not be the losers,” said he.  “I think I may promise indeed that each will have a step in rank, and I do not doubt that when the Holy Father hears what you have said to me, I shall have three other patents like to this;” and he locked Wogan’s away in a drawer.

“And what of the King in Spain?” asked Wogan.

“I sent a messenger thither on the night of your coming,” said the Cardinal; “but it is a long journey into Spain.  We must wait.”

To Wogan it seemed the waiting would never end.  The Cardinal had found a little house set apart from the street with a great garden of lawns and cedar-trees and laurels; and in that garden now fresh with spring flowers and made private by high walls, the Princess passed her days.  Wogan saw her but seldom during this time, but each occasion sent him back to his lodging in a fever of anxiety.  She had grown silent, and her silence alarmed him.  She had lost the sparkling buoyancy of her spirits.  Mrs. Misset,