alone now than she used to be,--her mother's death last year was a
terrible blow to her."

"Her mother was your sister?"

"My only sister," answered the Cardinal--"A good, sweet woman!--may
her soul rest in peace! Her character was never spoilt by the social
life she was compelled to lead. My brother-in-law, Prince Sovrani,
kept open house,--and all the gay world of Rome was accustomed to
flock thither; but now--since he has lost his wife, things have
changed very much,--sadness has taken the place of mirth,--and
Angela is very solitary."

"Is she not affianced to the celebrated Florian Varillo?"

A fleeting shadow of pain darkened the Cardinal's clear eyes.

"Yes. But she sees very little of him,--you know the strictness of
Roman etiquette in such matters. She sees little--and sometimes--so
I think--knows less. However, I hope all will be well. But my niece
is over sensitive, brilliantly endowed, and ambitious,--at times I
have fears for her future."

"Depression again!" declared the Archbishop, rising and preparing to
take his leave--"Believe me, the world is full of excellence when we
look upon it with clear eyes;--things are never as bad as they seem.
To my thinking, you are the last man alive who should indulge in
melancholy forebodings. You have led a peaceful and happy life,
graced with the reputation of many good deeds, and you are generally
beloved by the people of whom you have charge. Then, though celibacy