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The Duchess moved away to greet him. Mr. Heard remarked to Don
Francesco:
"That middle-aged colleague of yours, yonder--he has an unusual face."
"Our parish priest. A sound Christian!"
The PARROCO'S thin lips, peaked nose, beady eyes and colourless cheeks
proclaimed the anchorite, if not the monomaniac. He flitted about like
a draught of cold air, refusing all refreshments and not daring to
smell the flowers, lest he should derive too much pleasure from them.
He was often called Torquemada, from his harsh and abstemious habits.
The name had been given him, of course, by his brother priests who knew
about such matters, and not by the common people to whom the word
Torquemada would have suggested, if anything, a savoury kind of
pudding. Torquemada was capable of any sacrifice, of any enormity, in
defence of the faith. A narrow medieval type, he was the only person on
Nepenthe who would have been hewn in pieces for his God--nobody allowing
themselves to be even temporarily incommoded in so visionary a cause.


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