“You have seen Father Whitbread, no doubt,” said the Duke suddenly.

“No, sir.  I waited to pay my homage first to His Majesty and to yourself.”

He nodded once or twice at that.

“Yes, yes; but you will see him presently, I take it.  You could not have a better guide.  Why—­”

He broke off on a sudden.

“Why here is the man himself,” he said.

A man in a sober suit was indeed approaching, as His Highness spoke.  He was of about the middle-size, clean-shaven, of grave and kindly face, and resembled such a man as a lawyer or physician might be.  He was dressed in all points like a layman, though I suppose it was tolerably well known what he was, if not his name.

He saluted as he came near, and made as if he would have passed us.

“Mr. Whitbread!  Mr. Whitbread!” cried the Duke.

The priest turned and bowed again, uncovering as he did so.  Then he came up to the Duke and kissed his hand.

“I was on my way to see your Royal Highness,” he said, “but when I saw you were in company—­”

“Why, this is Mr. Mallock, come from Rome, who has letters to you.  This will save you a journey, Mallock.”

The priest and I saluted one another; and I found his face and manner very pleasant.

“I have heard of you, Mr. Mallock,” he said, “but I hope His Highness is misinformed, and that this will not save you a journey, after all.”

“I was just telling this gentleman,” broke in the Duke, as we continued our walking, “that he must take you for his mentor, Dr. Whitbread, in these difficult times.  Mr. Mallock seems very young for his business, but I suppose that the Holy Father knows what he is about.”

“The Holy Father, sir,” I said, “has committed himself in no sort of way to me.  I am scarcely more than a free-lance who has had his blessing.”

“Well, well; it is all the same thing,” said James a little impatiently.  “Free-lance or drilled soldier—­they fight for the same cause.”

He continued to talk in the same manner for a little, as if for my instruction; and I listened with all the meekness I had.  He did not tell me one word which I did not already know; but I had perceived by now what kind of man he was—­well intentioned, no doubt, as courageous as a lion, and as impatient of opposition, and not a little stupid:  at least he had not a tenth of his brother’s wits, as all the world knew.  He solemnly informed me therefore of what all the world knew, and I listened to him.

When he dismissed me at last, however, he remembered to ask where I lodged, and I told him.

“A very good place too,” he said.  “I am glad your cousin had the sense to put you there.  Then I will remember you, if I need you for anything.”

“I will go with Mr. Mallock,” said the priest, “if Your Royal Highness will permit.  I came but to pay my respects; and it is a little late.”