Virginia gave a sharp cry, and I was certainly taken aback.  “Reverend sir,” I said, as calmly as I was able, “I had hoped to have explained—–­ "

The pock-marked Dominican took up the tale.  “It is true, you have explained; but you have not produced your papers.  Explanations apart from papers are of little or no value.”

“Explanations,” said I, “of the absence of papers are surely more valuable than the absence of papers and explanations alike.  I repeat that my own passport is lost, and that my companion needs none.”

“I have now listened to your companion and to you,” replied the Dominican.  “The reasons which, on your showing, have prompted you to visit Florence are connected with sin.  These are not creditable reasons, and explain nothing.  I must again ask you, where are your papers?”

Virginia, exasperated, threw up her arms and called on the Madonna.  “Our papers!  Just Heaven, how often is he to tell you that he has none?”

“This is idle questioning,” said I.  “I cannot give you more than explanations, because I have nothing more.  You will make me regret even so much complaisance.”

“But,” said the breathless priest, with a comical look awry, “But this is very serious.  How are we to fill up these forms if we have no papers?”

“I cannot help you,” I said.

Here it was the turn of the third officer, and second Dominican.  He was a fat-faced man with a perpetual smile.  “You have done very wrongly, both of you,” he said, looking as if he loved the thought.

I said, “I have admitted it.”

“Silence,” said he.  “The Holy Office cannot excuse a breach of the laws of which it is the guardian.”

“I break no laws, sir,” cried I.  “At least none that are under your care.”

“Silence,” said the Dominican.  “I cannot believe a word that you say.  Speak you, young woman, and speak the truth.  Of what nation are you?”

Virginia looked him squarely in the face.  “I am a subject of the Grand Duke’s, father.  I am of Siena.”

She had her reasons for the fib, but, not knowing what they were at the moment, I started violently, and the inquisitor turned upon me.

“Do you, young man, wish to make any remark?”

“I wish to say—–­” I began.

The Dominican turned to his colleagues.  “He denies that she is of Siena; therefore, probably she has spoken the truth.  We will inscribe her so.  Will you now tell us,” he asked Virginia, “of what nation is this young man?”

She replied, “He also has spoken the truth.  He comes from Padua.”

“From Padua!” cried the pock-marked officer; and the breathless priest tossed up his hands, echoing, “A Venetian subject!”

“You are wrong,” I said, “I am an English subject.”

“Silence,” said the stern Dominican, “you are now inscribed as a Venetian subject.  A Venetian subject!  From a country of profligacies and indescribable laxity of manners!  A Venetian!  A comedian!”