She turned the envelope over in her hands, looked again at the stranger, and at last stood aside so that he might enter.

Derby waited in the dim, low-ceilinged passageway, which suggested anything but the antechamber of an archbishop’s palace.  Presently a door opened, a feeble yellow haze filtered into the corridor, and the old woman reappeared and led Derby into a small, stone-paved apartment illumined by a single flickering lamp of the most primitive design, by the light of which the archbishop had evidently been reading.  As soon as Derby entered, the venerable prelate arose.  In his long sottana of violet he looked strangely diminutive and feminine; his pale skin and mild eyes, and the soft white hair like a fringe beneath his velvet cap—­all gave an impression of great gentleness, an impression heightened by contrast with the bare, white-washed walls and rigorously meager furnishing of the cell-like room.  With the courteous manner of all southern countries, the archbishop placed the best chair for his guest, and said smilingly: 

“Do you speak Italian?  Ah—­I am glad you understand that language!  My French is very failing, and as for Inglese—­non lo conosco.  It is too difficult at my age.  If I were younger I should like to learn your tongue.”  He said this with inimitable grace, and added with a gentle inclination:  “You are Americano, are you not?  Your land has done much for my people!  But tell me, Signore, in what way may I serve you?  Sua Eccellenza il Principe Sansevero places you under our protection, but he does not tell us what it is that has brought you to us.”  The archbishop, leaning back in his chair, might so have sat for his portrait—­his white hands folded one over the other, and the great amethyst ring on the third finger of his right hand seeming to reflect the paler shadings in the folds of his gown.

[Illustration:  “’YOU ARE AMERICANO, ARE YOU NOT?  YOUR LAND HAS DONE MUCH FOR MY PEOPLE!’”]

“I have come, your Eminence,” said Derby, going to the point at once, “to work the ‘Little Devil’ mine.”  Before the archbishop could utter a protest, he continued very quickly and distinctly:  “I know just such mines as that which are being operated now without danger or suffering to the miners.”

Then, briefly as possible, he went on to outline his system of mining.  There was no necessity, he said, for miners to descend below the surface of the earth, and he would need only a dozen men—­instead of the many workers, including women and children, that were now employed.  To Derby’s surprise, the old man seemed troubled.

“I grow old, Signore; one does not easily take in new ideas!  By your method—­am I right?—­you will employ a dozen men in place of a hundred.  That troubles me, though your plan seems good.  If there are but a small handful needed, it must put the others out of work.  The mines are hard.  A harder existence cannot well be imagined—­but the good God must know it is for the best, since he allows it to continue.  To be sure,” he interrupted himself sadly, “he calls them to him soon!”