“Perhaps Verry would see him,” said Cittadella.
“Hm!...” replied Preciozi. “I rather doubt it.”
“What sort of a party is he?” asked Cæsar.
“He is one of those prelati that come out of the College of Nobles,” said Cittadella, “and who get on, even if they are no good. Here they consider him a haughty Spaniard; they blame him for wearing his robes, and for always taking an automobile when he goes to Castel Gandolfo. The priests hate him because he is a Jesuit and a Spaniard.”
“And wherein does his strength lie?”
“In the Society, and in his knowing several languages. He was educated in England.”
“From what you two tell me of him, he gives me the impression of a fatuous person.”
A bottle of champagne was brought in and the three of them drank, toasting and touching glasses.
“If I were in your place,” said Cittadella, after thinking a long while, “I shouldn’t try to get at people in high places, but people who are inconspicuous and yet have influence in your country.”
“For instance....”