Calabressa resumed his seat.

"Brother Lind," said he, in a low voice, though he leaned back in his
chair, and still preserved that gay manner, "I suppose you do not know
why you have been summoned?"

"Not I."

"_Bien._ But suppose one were to guess? Suppose there is a gentleman
somewhere about who has been carrying his outraging of one's common
notions of decency just a little too far? Suppose it is necessary to
make an example? You may be noble, and have great wealth, and honor, and
smiles from beautiful women; but if some night you find a little bit of
steel getting into your heart, or if some morning you find your coffee
as you drink it burn all the way down until you can feel it burn no
more--what then? You must bid good-bye to your mistresses, and to your
gold plates and feasts, and your fountains spouting perfumes, and all
your titles; is not that so?"

"But who is it?" said Lind, suddenly bending forward.

The other regarded him for a moment, playfully.

"What if I were to mention the '_Starving Cardinal_?'"

"Zaccatelli!" exclaimed Lind, with a ghastly pallor appearing for a
moment in the powerful iron-gray face.

Calabressa only laughed.

"Oh yes, it is beautiful to have all these fine things. And the unhappy
devils who are forced to pawn their last sticks of furniture at the
Monte di Pieta, rather than have their children starve when bread is
dear; how it must gratify them to think of his Eminence seizing the
funds of that flourishing institution to buy up the whole of the grain
in the Papal States! What an admirable speculation! How kind to the
poor, on the part of the Secretary to the Vicar of Christ! What!--do you
think because I am a cardinal I am not to make a profit in corn? I tell
you those people have no business to be miserable--they have no business
to go and pawn their things; if I am allowed to speculate with the
funds, why not? _Allons donc!_--It is a devilish fine world, merry
gentlemen!"

"But--but why have they summoned me?" Lind said, in the same low voice.

"Who knows?" said the other, lightly. "I do not. Come, tell me more
about the little Natalushka. Ah, do I not remember the little minx, when
she came in, after dinner, among all those men, with her '_Eljen a
haza_!' What has she grown to? what has she become?"

"Natalie is a good girl," said her father; but he was thinking of other
things.

"Beautiful?"

"Some would say so."

"But not like the English young ladies?"