lips curve upwards and reveal his white teeth? It could be divined that
he was quivering, fighting against an awakening of covert, tumultuous
passion, which he would not acknowledge even to himself.

"And you, my dear Abbe?" he hastily resumed. "Do you know the other
report? Do you know that the Countess is coming here?" It was thus, by
force of habit, that he designated Benedetta, forgetting that she was no
longer his wife.

"Yes, I have just been told so," Pierre replied; and then he hesitated
for a moment before adding, with a desire to prevent any disagreeable
surprise: "And we shall no doubt see Prince Dario also, for he has not
started for Naples as I told you. Something prevented his departure at
the last moment, I believe. At least so I gathered from a servant."

Prada no longer laughed. His face suddenly became grave, and he contented
himself with murmuring: "Ah! so the cousin is to be of the party. Well,
we shall see them, we shall see them both!"

Then, whilst the two friends went on chatting, he became silent, as if
serious considerations impelled him to reflect. And suddenly making a
gesture of apology he withdrew yet farther into the embrasure in which he
stood, pulled a note-book out of his pocket, and tore from it a leaf on
which, without modifying his handwriting otherwise than by slightly
enlarging it, he pencilled these four lines: "A legend avers that the fig
tree of Judas now grows at Frascati, and that its fruit is deadly for him
who may desire to become Pope. Eat not the poisoned figs, nor give them
either to your servants or your fowls." Then he folded the paper,
fastened it with a postage stamp, and wrote on it the address: "To his
most Reverend and most Illustrious Eminence, Cardinal Boccanera." And