what I am indebted for the honour of your visit."

He had already recovered his self-possession and assumed a /naif/, purely
obliging air; and Pierre, though the question was only natural, and he
ought to have foreseen it, suddenly felt greatly embarrassed, more
embarrassed indeed than in Cardinal Sarno's presence. Should he go to the
point at once, confess the delicate motive of his visit? A moment's
reflection showed him that this would be the best and worthier course.
"Dear me, Monseigneur," he replied, "I know very well that the step I
have taken in calling on you is not usually taken, but it has been
advised me, and it has seemed to me that among honest folks there can
never be any harm in seeking in all good faith to elucidate the truth."

"What is it, what is it, then?" asked the prelate with an expression of
perfect candour, and still continuing to smile.

"Well, simply this. I have learnt that the Congregation of the Index has
handed you my book 'New Rome,' and appointed you to examine it; and I
have ventured to present myself before you in case you should have any
explanations to ask of me."

But Monsignor Fornaro seemed unwilling to hear any more. He had carried
both hands to his head and drawn back, albeit still courteous. "No, no,"
said he, "don't tell me that, don't continue, you would grieve me
dreadfully. Let us say, if you like, that you have been deceived, for
nothing ought to be known, in fact nothing is known, either by others or
myself. I pray you, do not let us talk of such matters."

Pierre, however, had fortunately remarked what a decisive effect was
produced when he had occasion to mention the name of the Assessor of the