He stopped abruptly, looking at her.  How provokingly pretty she was!—­and how easily indifferent she seemed to the authoritative air he had chosen to assume.

“I should, I know, long ere this have offered you my felicitations on your approaching marriage—­”

Sylvie smiled bewitchingly, and gave him a graceful curtsey.

“Will you not sit down, Monsignor?” she then said.  “We can talk more at our ease, do you not think?”

She seated herself, with very much the air of a queen taking possession of a rightful throne, and Gherardi was vexedly aware that he had not by any means the full possession of his ordinary dignity or self-control.  He took a chair opposite to her and sat for a moment perplexed as to his next move.  Sylvie did not help him at all.  Ruffling the violets among the lace at her neck, she looked at him attentively from under her long golden-brown lashes, but maintained a perfect silence.

“The news has been received by the Holy Father with great pleasure,” he said at last.  “His special benediction will grace your wedding-day.”

Sylvie bent her head.

“The Holy Father is most gracious!” she replied quietly.  “And he is also more liberal than I imagined, if he is willing to bestow his special benediction on my marriage with one who is considered a heretic by the Church.”

He flashed a keen glance at her,—­then forced a smile.  “Mr. Leigh’s heresy is of the past,” he said—­“We welcome him—­with you—­as one of us!”

Sylvie was silent.  He waited, inwardly cursing her tranquillity.  Then, as she still did not speak, he went on in smooth accents—­

“The Church pardons all who truly repent.  She welcomes all who come to her in confidence, no matter how tardy or hesitating their approach.  We shall receive the husband of our daughter Sylvie Hermenstein, with such joy as the prodigal son was in old time received—­and of his past mistakes and follies there shall be neither word nor memory!”

Then Sylvie looked up and fixed her deep blue eyes steadily upon him.

“Caro Monsignor!” she said very sweetly.  “Why talk all this nonsense to me?  Do you not realise that as the betrothed wife of Aubrey Leigh I am past the Church counsel or command?”

Gherardi still smiled.

“Past Church counsel or command?” he murmured with an indulgent air, as though he were talking to a very small child.  “Pardon me if I am at a loss to understand—­”

“Oh, you understand very well!” said Sylvie.  “You know perfectly—­or you should—­that a wife’s duty is to obey her husband,—­and that in future his Church,—­not yours,—­must be hers also.”

“Surely you speak in riddles?” said Gherardi, preserving his suave equanimity.  “Mr. Leigh is (or was) a would-be ardent reformer, but he has no real Church.”

“Then I have none!” replied Sylvie.

There was a moment’s silence.  A black rage began to kindle in Gherardi’s soul,—­rage all the more intense because so closely suppressed.