What a transformation! The man who had been lounging and listless all the afternoon--barely civil to his guests--making no effort indeed for anyone, was now another being.

An hour before he had been in middle age; now he was young, handsome, courteous, animating, and guiding the conversation around him with the practised ease of one who knew himself a master.
Where was the spell?
The Cardinal?
The Cardinal sat to Manisty's right, one wrinkled hand resting on the neck of the Newfoundland.

It was a typical Italian face, large-cheeked and large-jawed, with good eyes,--a little sleepy, but not unspiritual.

His red-edged cassock allowed a glimpse of red stockings to be seen, and his finely worked cross and chain, his red sash, and the bright ribbon that lit up his broad-brimmed hat, made spots of cheerful colour in the shadow of the trees.
He was a Cardinal of the Curia, belonging indeed to the Congregation of the Index.

The vulgar believed that he was staying on the hills for his health.
The initiated, however, knew that he had come to these heights, bringing with him the works of a certain German Catholic professor threatened with the thunders of the Church.