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yet none but Augustus had held the empire of the world, had been both

emperor and pontiff, master of the body and the soul. And thence had come

the eternal dream of the popes in despair at only holding the spiritual

power, and obstinately refusing to yield in temporal matters, clinging

for ever to the ancient hope that their dream might at last be realised,

and the Vatican become another Palatine, whence they might reign with

absolute despotism over all the conquered nations.

VI.

PIERRE had been in Rome for a fortnight, and yet the affair of his book

was no nearer solution. He was still possessed by an ardent desire to see

the Pope, but could in no wise tell how to satisfy it, so frequent were

the delays and so greatly had he been frightened by Monsignor Nani's

predictions of the dire consequences which might attend any imprudent

action. And so, foreseeing a prolonged sojourn, he at last betook himself

to the Vicariate in order that his "celebret" might be stamped, and

afterwards said his mass each morning at the Church of Santa Brigida,

where he received a kindly greeting from Abbe Pisoni, Benedetta's former

confessor.

One Monday evening he resolved to repair early to Donna Serafina's

customary reception in the hope of learning some news and expediting his

affairs. Perhaps Monsignor Nani would look in; perhaps he might be lucky

enough to come across some cardinal or domestic prelate willing to help

him. It was in vain that he had tried to extract any positive information

from Don Vigilio, for, after a short spell of affability and willingness,

Cardinal Pio's secretary had relapsed into distrust and fear, and avoided

Pierre as if he were resolved not to meddle in a business which, all

considered, was decidedly suspicious and dangerous. Moreover, for a

couple of days past a violent attack of fever had compelled him to keep

his room.

Thus the only person to whom Pierre could turn for comfort was Victorine

Bosquet, the old Beauceronne servant who had been promoted to the rank of

housekeeper, and who still retained a French heart after thirty years'

residence in Rome. She often spoke to the young priest of Auneau, her

native place, as if she had left it only the previous day; but on that

particular Monday even she had lost her wonted gay vivacity, and when she

heard that he meant to go down in the evening to see the ladies she

wagged her head significantly. "Ah! you won't find them very cheerful,"

said she. "My poor Benedetta is greatly worried. Her divorce suit is not

progressing at all well."

All Rome, indeed, was again talking of this affair. An extraordinary

revival of tittle-tattle had set both white and black worlds agog. And so

there was no need for reticence on Victorine's part, especially in

conversing with a compatriot. It appeared, then, that, in reply to

Advocate Morano's memoir setting forth that the marriage had not been

consummated, there had come another memoir, a terrible one, emanating

from Monsignor Palma, a doctor in theology, whom the Congregation of the

Council had selected to defend the marriage. As a first point, Monsignor

Palma flatly disputed the alleged non-consummation, questioned the

certificate put forward on Benedetta's behalf, and quoted instances

recorded in scientific text-books which showed how deceptive appearances

often were. He strongly insisted, moreover, on the narrative which Count

Prada supplied in another memoir, a narrative well calculated to inspire

doubt; and, further, he so turned and twisted the evidence of Benedetta's

own maid as to make that evidence also serve against her. Finally he

argued in a decisive way that, even supposing the marriage had not been

consummated, this could only be ascribed to the resistance of the

Countess, who had thus set at defiance one of the elementary laws of

married life, which was that a wife owed obedience to her husband.

Next had come a fourth memoir, drawn up by the reporter of the

Congregation, who analysed and discussed the three others, and

subsequently the Congregation itself had dealt with the matter, opining

in favour of the dissolution of the marriage by a majority of one

vote--such a bare majority, indeed, that Monsignor Palma, exercising his

rights, had hastened to demand further inquiry, a course which brought

the whole _procedure_ again into question, and rendered a fresh vote

necessary.

"Ah! the poor Contessina!" exclaimed Victorine, "she'll surely die of

grief, for, calm as she may seem, there's an inward fire consuming her.

It seems that Monsignor Palma is the master of the situation, and can

make the affair drag on as long as he likes. And then a deal of money had

already been spent, and one will have to spend a lot more. Abbe Pisoni,

whom you know, was very badly inspired when he helped on that marriage;

and though I certainly don't want to soil the memory of my good mistress,

Countess Ernesta, who was a real saint, it's none the less true that she

wrecked her daughter's life when she gave her to Count Prada."

The housekeeper paused. Then, impelled by an instinctive sense of

justice, she resumed. "It's only natural that Count Prada should be

annoyed, for he's really being made a fool of. And, for my part, as there

is no end to all the fuss, and this divorce is so hard to obtain, I

really don't see why the Contessina shouldn't live with her Dario without

troubling any further. Haven't they loved one another ever since they

were children? Aren't they both young and handsome, and wouldn't they be

happy together, whatever the world might say? Happiness, _mon Dieu_! one

finds it so seldom that one can't afford to let it pass."

Then, seeing how greatly surprised Pierre was at hearing such language,

she began to laugh with the quiet composure of one belonging to the

humble classes of France, whose only desire is a quiet and happy life,

irrespective of matrimonial ties. Next, in more discreet language, she

proceeded to lament another worry which had fallen on the household,

another result of the divorce affair. A rupture had come about between

Donna Serafina and Advocate Morano, who was very displeased with the ill

success of his memoir to the congregation, and accused Father

Lorenza--the confessor of the Boccanera ladies--of having urged them into

a deplorable lawsuit, whose only fruit could be a wretched scandal

affecting everybody. And so great had been Morano's annoyance that he had

not returned to the Boccanera mansion, but had severed a connection of

thirty years' standing, to the stupefaction of all the Roman

drawing-rooms, which altogether disapproved of his conduct. Donna

Serafina was, for her part, the more grieved as she suspected the

advocate of having purposely picked the quarrel in order to secure an

excuse for leaving her; his real motive, in her estimation, being a

sudden, disgraceful passion for a young and intriguing woman of the

middle classes.

That Monday evening, when Pierre entered the drawing-room, hung with

yellow brocatelle of a flowery Louis XIV pattern, he at once realised

that melancholy reigned in the dim light radiating from the lace-veiled

lamps. Benedetta and Celia, seated on a sofa, were chatting with Dario,

whilst Cardinal Sarno, ensconced in an arm-chair, listened to the

ceaseless chatter of the old relative who conducted the little Princess

to each Monday gathering. And the only other person present was Donna

Serafina, seated all alone in her wonted place on the right-hand side of

the chimney-piece, and consumed with secret rage at seeing the chair on

the left-hand side unoccupied--that chair which Morano had always taken

during the thirty years that he had been faithful to her. Pierre noticed

with what anxious and then despairing eyes she observed his entrance, her

glance ever straying towards the door, as though she even yet hoped for

the fickle one's return. Withal her bearing was erect and proud; she

seemed to be more tightly laced than ever; and there was all the wonted

haughtiness on her hard-featured face, with its jet-black eyebrows and

snowy hair.

Pierre had no sooner paid his respects to her than he allowed his own

worry to appear by inquiring whether they would not have the pleasure of

seeing Monsignor Nani that evening. Thereupon Donna Serafina could not

refrain from answering: "Oh! Monsignor Nani is forsaking us like the

others. People always take themselves off when they can be of service."

She harboured a spite against the prelate for having done so little to

further the divorce in spite of his many promises. Beneath his outward

show of extreme willingness and caressing affability he doubtless

concealed some scheme of his own which he was tenaciously pursuing.

However, Donna Serafina promptly regretted the confession which anger had

wrung from her, and resumed: "After all, he will perhaps come. He is so

good-natured, and so fond of us."

In spite of the vivacity of her temperament she really wished to act

diplomatically, so as to overcome the bad luck which had recently set in.

Her brother the Cardinal had told her how irritated he was by the

attitude of the Congregation of the Council; he had little doubt that the

frigid reception accorded to his niece's suit had been due in part to the

desire of some of his brother cardinals to be disagreeable to him.

Personally, he desired the divorce, as it seemed to him the only means of

ensuring the perpetuation of the family; for Dario obstinately refused to

marry any other woman than his cousin. And thus there was an accumulation

of disasters; the Cardinal was wounded in his pride, his sister shared

his sufferings and on her own side was stricken in the heart, whilst both

lovers were plunged in despair at finding their hopes yet again deferred.

As Pierre approached the sofa where the young folks were chatting he

found that they were speaking of the catastrophe. "Why should you be so

despondent?" asked Celia in an undertone. "After all, there was a

majority of a vote in favour of annulling the marriage. Your suit hasn't

been rejected; there is only a delay."

But Benedetta shook her head. "No, no! If Monsignor Palma proves

obstinate his Holiness will never consent. It's all over."

"Ah! if one were only rich, very rich!" murmured Dario, with such an air

of conviction that no one smiled. And, turning to his cousin, he added in

a whisper: "I must really have a talk with you. We cannot go on living

like this."

In a breath she responded: "Yes, you are right. Come down to-morrow

evening at five. I will be here alone."

Then dreariness set in; the evening seemed to have no end. Pierre was

greatly touched by the evident despair of Benedetta, who as a rule was so

calm and sensible. The deep eyes which illumined her pure, delicate,

infantile face were now blurred as by restrained tears. He had already

formed a sincere affection for her, pleased as he was with her equable if

somewhat indolent disposition, the semblance of discreet good sense with

which she veiled her soul of fire. That Monday even she certainly tried

to smile while listening to the pretty secrets confided to her by Celia,

whose love affairs were prospering far more than her own. There was only

one brief interval of general conversation, and that was brought about by

the little Princess's aunt, who, suddenly raising her voice, began to

speak of the infamous manner in which the Italian newspapers referred to

the Holy Father. Never, indeed, had there been so much bad feeling

between the Vatican and the Quirinal. Cardinal Sarno felt so strongly on

the subject that he departed from his wonted silence to announce that on

the occasion of the sacrilegious festivities of the Twentieth of

September, celebrating the capture of Rome, the Pope intended to cast a

fresh letter of protest in the face of all the Christian powers, whose

indifference proved their complicity in the odious spoliation of the

Church.

"Yes, indeed! what folly to try and marry the Pope and the King,"

bitterly exclaimed Donna Serafina, alluding to her niece's deplorable

marriage.

The old maid now seemed quite beside herself; it was already so late that

neither Monsignor Nani nor anybody else was expected. However, at the

unhoped-for sound of footsteps her eyes again brightened and turned

feverishly towards the door. But it was only to encounter a final

disappointment. The visitor proved to be Narcisse Habert, who stepped up

to her, apologising for making so late a call. It was Cardinal Sarno, his

uncle by marriage, who had introduced him into this exclusive _salon_,

where he had received a cordial reception on account of his religious

views, which were said to be most uncompromising. If, however, despite

the lateness of the hour, he had ventured to call there that evening, it

was solely on account of Pierre, whom he at once drew on one side.

"I felt sure I should find you here," he said. "Just now I managed to see

my cousin, Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, and I have some good news for you.

He will see us to-morrow at about eleven in his rooms at the Vatican."

Then, lowering his voice: "I think he will endeavour to conduct you to

the Holy Father. Briefly, the audience seems to me assured."

Pierre was greatly delighted by this promised certainty, which came to

him so suddenly in that dreary drawing-room, where for a couple of hours

he had been gradually sinking into despair! So at last a solution was at

hand!

Meantime Narcisse, after shaking hands with Dario and bowing to Benedetta

and Celia, approached his uncle the Cardinal, who, having rid himself of

the old relation, made up his mind to talk. But his conversation was

confined to the state of his health, and the weather, and sundry

insignificant anecdotes which he had lately heard. Not a word escaped him

respecting the thousand complicated matters with which he dealt at the

Propaganda. It was as though, once outside his office, he plunged into