“I have not come yet to the end of them,” answered Wogan.  “There is one more.”

“Ask it!” said his Eminence, crossing his legs.

“Will your Eminence oblige me with a history of the affection of Maria Vittoria, Mlle. de Caprara, for the King?”

The Cardinal uncrossed his legs and bounced in his chair.

“Here is a question indeed!” he stuttered.

“And a history of the King’s response to it,” continued Wogan, implacably, “with a particular account of why the King lingers in Spain after the Cadiz expedition has put out to sea.”

Origo was now quite still.  His face was pale, and he had lost in an instant that air of affectation which so contrasted with his broad features.

“This is very dangerous talk,” said he, solemnly.

“Not so dangerous as silence.”

“Some foolish slanderer has been busy at your ears.”

“Not at my ears,” returned Wogan.

The Cardinal took his meaning.  “Is it so, indeed?” said he, thoughtfully, once or twice.  Then he reached out his hand towards an escritoire.  “But here’s the King’s letter come this morning.”

“It is not enough,” said Wogan, “for the King lingers in Spain, and the portrait of Maria Vittoria glows on the walls of the Caprara Palace, whither I was bidden to escort her Highness this morning.”

The Cardinal walked thoughtfully to and fro about the room, but made up his mind in the end.

“I will tell you the truth of the matter, Mr. Wogan.  The King saw Mlle. de Caprara for the first time while you were searching Europe for a wife for him.  He saw her here one morning at Mass in the Church of the Crucifixion, and came away most silent.  Of their acquaintance I need not speak.  The King just for one month became an ardent youth.  He appealed to the Pope for his consent to marry Mlle. de Caprara, and the Pope consented.  The King was just sending off a message to bid you cease your search when you came back with the news that her Highness the Princess Clementina had accepted the King’s hand and would shortly set out for Bologna.  Sir, the King was in despair, though he showed to you a smiling, grateful face.  Mlle. de Caprara went to Rome; the King stayed here awaiting his betrothed.  There came the news of her imprisonment.  The King, after all, is a man.  If his heart leaped a little at the news, who shall blame him?  Do you remember how you came privately one night to the King’s cabinet and found me there in the King’s company?”

“But,” stammered Wogan, “I do remember that evening.  I remember that the King was pale, discouraged—­”

“And why?” said Origo.  “Because her Highness’s journey had been interrupted, because the marriage now seemed impossible?  No, but because Mr. Charles Wogan was back in Bologna, because Mr. Charles Wogan had sought for a private interview, because the King had no more doubt than I as to what Mr. Charles Wogan intended to propose, and because the King knew that what Mr. Wogan set his hand to was as good as done.  You remember I threw such hindrances as I could in your way, and made much of the risks you must run, and the impossibility of your task.  Now you know why.”