And even as he stiffened, she unbent.

"But it is a matter of consequence to him, to us," she said,
faintly smiling. "We have hunted high and low for it. We
feared it was lost for good. It must have fallen from his
pocket when he was walking. He will wish to thank you."

"I am more than thanked already," said Peter. Alas (as
Monsieur de la Pallisse has sagely noted), when we aim to
appear dignified, how often do we just succeed in appearing
churlish.

And to put a seal upon this ridiculous encounter, to make it
irrevocable, he lifted his hat again, and turned away.

"Oh, very well," murmured the Duchessa, in a voice that did not
reach him. If it had reached him, perhaps he would have come
back, perhaps things might have happened. I think there was
regret in her voice, as well as despite. She stood for a
minute, as he tramped down the avenue, and looked after him,
with those unusually dark, grave eyes. At last, making a
little gesture--as of regret? despite? impatience?--she went
into the house.

"Here is your snuff-box," she said to the Cardinal.

The old man put down his Breviary (he was seated by an open
window, getting through his office), and smiled at the snuff
box fondly, caressing it with his finger. Afterwards, he shook
it, opened it, and took a pinch of snuff.