"Then we go in different directions. I am walking
up the hill to Monte Carlo. Good afternoon. I will remember to give Miss
Grant your message."
They parted, but Lady Dauntrey turned her head twice, each time to see
the cure's black-robed figure marching at a good pace away from the
villa. Then she went on faster; and the importance of the incident began
to fade from her mind. Not that it had ever had any real importance, she
assured herself. Only, she hated priests as she would hate to see a
raven fly over her head. They seemed somehow ominous; and she could not
understand why a member of the interfering tribe wanted to see Miss
Grant, unless to try and get her away into less worldly surroundings.
Lady Dauntrey did not wish Mary to go; and she was glad she had acted on
impulse, saying that the girl was out. It was lucky that she had met the
priest, for had he arrived a minute sooner or a minute later, a servant
would have told him that Miss Grant was in. Eve decided that she would
forget to mention the cure of Roquebrune's visit.
Having said that he would go to the Church of Sainte Devote, the cure
conscientiously kept his word. Luckily the Villa Bella Vista was not far
from the deep, dim ravine where the patron saint of Monaco was supposed
to have drifted ashore in a boat, piloted by a sacred dove, and rowed by
faithful followers after suffering martyrdom in Corsica. The cure was
fond of the strange little church of sweet chimes, almost hidden between
immense, concealing walls of rock; but to-day he merely paid his
respects to the saint and quickly went his way again.
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