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resuscitating a Christian and evangelical Rome, which should assure the

happiness of the world."

He laughed as he spoke, pitying his own artlessness, and then pointed

towards the gallery where Prince Buongiovanni was bowing to the King

whilst the Princess listened to the gallant remarks of Sacco: a scene

full of symbolism, the old papal aristocracy struck down, the _parvenus_

accepted, the black and white worlds so mixed together that one and all

were little else than subjects, on the eve of forming but one united

nation. That conciliation between the Quirinal and the Vatican which in

principle was regarded as impossible, was it not in practice fatal, in

face of the evolution which went on day by day? People must go on living,

loving, and creating life throughout the ages. And the marriage of

Attilio and Celia would be the symbol of the needful union: youth and

love triumphing over ancient hatred, all quarrels forgotten as a handsome

lad goes by, wins a lovely girl, and carries her off in his arms in order

that the world may last.

"Look at them!" resumed Pierre, "how handsome and young and gay both the

_fiances_ are, all confidence in the future. Ah! I well understand that

your King should have come here to please his minister and win one of the

old Roman families over to his throne; it is good, brave, and fatherly

policy. But I like to think that he has also realised the touching

significance of that marriage--old Rome, in the person of that candid,

loving child giving herself to young Italy, that upright, enthusiastic

young man who wears his uniform so jauntily. And may their nuptials be

definitive and fruitful; from them and from all the others may there

arise the great nation which, now that I begin to know you, I trust you

will soon become!"

Amidst the tottering of his former dream of an evangelical and universal

Rome, Pierre expressed these good wishes for the Eternal City's future

fortune with such keen and deep emotion that Prada could not help

replying: "I thank you; that wish of yours is in the heart of every good

Italian."

But his voice quavered, for even whilst he was looking at Celia and

Attilio, who stood smiling and talking together, he saw Benedetta and

Dario approach them, wearing the same joyful expression of perfect

happiness. And when the two couples were united, so radiant and so

triumphant, so full of superb and happy life, he no longer had strength

to stay there, see them, and suffer.

"I am frightfully thirsty," he hoarsely exclaimed. "Let's go to the

buffet to drink something." And, thereupon, in order to avoid notice, he

so manoeuvred as to glide behind the throng, skirting the windows in the

direction of the entrance to the Hall of the Antiques, which was beyond

the gallery.

Whilst Pierre was following him they were parted by an eddy of the crowd,

and the young priest found himself carried towards the two loving couples

who still stood chatting together. And Celia, on recognising him,

beckoned to him in a friendly way. With her passionate cult for beauty,

she was enraptured with the appearance of Benedetta, before whom she

joined her little lily hands as before the image of the Madonna. "Oh!

Monsieur l'Abbe," said she, "to please me now, do tell her how beautiful

she is, more beautiful than anything on earth, more beautiful than even

the sun, and the moon and stars. If you only knew, my dear, it makes me

quiver to see you so beautiful as that, as beautiful as happiness, as

beautiful as love itself!"

Benedetta began to laugh, while the two young men made merry. "But you

are as beautiful as I am, darling," said the Contessina. "And if we are

beautiful it is because we are happy."

"Yes, yes, happy," Celia gently responded. "Do you remember the evening

when you told me that one didn't succeed in marrying the Pope and the

King? But Attilio and I are marrying them, and yet we are very happy."

"But we don't marry them, Dario and I! On the contrary!" said Benedetta

gaily. "No matter; as you answered me that same evening, it is sufficient

that we should love one another, love saves the world."

When Pierre at last succeeded in reaching the door of the Hall of the

Antiques, where the buffet was installed, he found Prada there,

motionless, gazing despite himself on the galling spectacle which he

desired to flee. A power stronger than his will had kept him there,

forcing him to turn round and look, and look again. And thus, with a

bleeding heart, he still lingered and witnessed the resumption of the

dancing, the first figure of a quadrille which the orchestra began to

play with a lively flourish of its brass instruments. Benedetta and

Dario, Celia and Attilio were _vis-a-vis_. And so charming and

delightful was the sight which the two couples presented dancing in the

white blaze, all youth and joy, that the King and Queen drew near to them

and became interested. And soon bravos of admiration rang out, while from

every heart spread a feeling of infinite tenderness.

"I'm dying of thirst, let's go!" repeated Prada, at last managing to

wrench himself away from the torturing sight.

He called for some iced lemonade and drank the glassful at one draught,

gulping it down with the greedy eagerness of a man stricken with fever,

who will never more be able to quench the burning fire within him.

The Hall of the Antiques was a spacious room with mosaic pavement, and

decorations of stucco; and a famous collection of vases, bas-reliefs, and

statues, was disposed along its walls. The marbles predominated, but

there were a few bronzes, and among them a dying gladiator of extreme

beauty. The marvel however was the famous statue of Venus, a companion to

that of the Capitol, but with a more elegant and supple figure and with

the left arm falling loosely in a gesture of voluptuous surrender. That

evening a powerful electric reflector threw a dazzling light upon the

statue, which, in its divine and pure nudity, seemed to be endowed with

superhuman, immortal life. Against the end-wall was the buffet, a long

table covered with an embroidered cloth and laden with fruit, pastry, and

cold meats. Sheaves of flowers rose up amidst bottles of champagne, hot

punch, and iced _sorbetto_, and here and there were marshalled armies of

glasses, tea-cups, and broth-bowls, a perfect wealth of sparkling

crystal, porcelain, and silver. And a happy innovation had been to fill

half of the hall with rows of little tables, at which the guests, in lieu

of being obliged to refresh themselves standing, were able to sit down

and order what they desired as in a cafe.

At one of these little tables, Pierre perceived Narcisse seated near a

young woman, whom Prada, on approaching, recognised to be Lisbeth. "You

find me, you see, in delightful company," gallantly exclaimed the

_attache_. "As we lost one another, I could think of nothing better than

of offering madame my arm to bring her here."

"It was, in fact, a good idea," said Lisbeth with her pretty laugh, "for

I was feeling very thirsty."

They had ordered some iced coffee, which they were slowly sipping out of

little silver-gilt spoons.

"I have a terrible thirst, too," declared the Count, "and I can't quench

it. You will allow us to join you, will you not, my dear sir? Some of

that coffee will perhaps calm me." And then to Lisbeth he added, "Ah! my

dear, allow me to introduce to you Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, a young

French priest of great distinction."

Then for a long time they all four remained seated at that table,

chatting and making merry over certain of the guests who went by. Prada,

however, in spite of his usual gallantry towards Lisbeth, frequently

became absent-minded; at times he quite forgot her, being again mastered

by his anguish, and, in spite of all his efforts, his eyes ever turned

towards the neighbouring gallery whence the sound of music and dancing

reached him.

"Why, what are you thinking of, _caro mio_?" Lisbeth asked in her pretty

way, on seeing him at one moment so pale and lost. "Are you indisposed?"

He did not reply, however, but suddenly exclaimed, "Ah! look there,

that's the real pair, there's real love and happiness for you!"

With a jerk of the hand he designated Dario's mother, the Marchioness

Montefiori and her second husband, Jules Laporte--that ex-sergeant of the

papal Swiss Guard, her junior by fifteen years, whom she had one day

hooked at the Corso with her eyes of fire, which yet had remained superb,

and whom she had afterwards triumphantly transformed into a Marquis

Montefiori in order to have him entirely to herself. Such was her passion

that she never relaxed her hold on him whether at ball or reception, but,

despite all usages, kept him beside her, and even made him escort her to

the buffet, so much did she delight in being able to exhibit him and say

that this handsome man was her own exclusive property. And standing there

side by side, the pair of them began to drink champagne and eat

sandwiches, she yet a marvel of massive beauty although she was over

fifty, and he with long wavy moustaches, and proud bearing, like a

fortunate adventurer whose jovial impudence pleased the ladies.

"You know that she had to extricate him from a nasty affair," resumed the

Count in a lower tone. "Yes, he travelled in relics; he picked up a

living by supplying relics on commission to convents in France and

Switzerland; and he had launched quite a business in false relics with

the help of some Jews here who concocted little ancient reliquaries out

of mutton bones, with everything sealed and signed by the most genuine

authorities. The affair was hushed up, as three prelates were also

compromised in it! Ah! the happy man! Do you see how she devours him with

her eyes? And he, doesn't he look quite a _grand seigneur_ by the mere

way in which he holds that plate for her whilst she eats the breast of a

fowl out of it!"

Then, in a rough way and with biting irony, he went on to speak of the

_amours_ of Rome. The Roman women, said he, were ignorant, obstinate, and

jealous. When a woman had managed to win a man, she kept him for ever, he

became her property, and she disposed of him as she pleased. By way of

proof, he cited many interminable _liaisons_, such as that of Donna

Serafina and Morano which, in time became virtual marriages; and he

sneered at such a lack of fancy, such an excess of fidelity whose only

ending, when it did end, was some very disagreeable unpleasantness.

At this, Lisbeth interrupted him. "But what is the matter with you this

evening, my dear?" she asked with a laugh. "What you speak of is on the

contrary very nice and pretty! When a man and a woman love one another

they ought to do so for ever!"

She looked delightful as she spoke, with her fine wavy blonde hair and

delicate fair complexion; and Narcisse with a languorous expression in

his half-closed eyes compared her to a Botticelli which he had seen at

Florence. However, the night was now far advanced, and Pierre had once

more sunk into gloomy thoughtfulness when he heard a passing lady remark

that they had already begun to dance the Cotillon in the gallery; and

thereupon he suddenly remembered that Monsignor Nani had given him an

appointment in the little Saloon of the Mirrors.

"Are you leaving?" hastily inquired Prada on seeing him rise and bow to

Lisbeth.

"No, no, not yet," Pierre answered.

"Oh! all right. Don't go away without me. I want to walk a little, and

I'll see you home. It's agreed, eh? You will find me here."

The young priest had to cross two rooms, one hung with yellow and the

other with blue, before he at last reached the mirrored _salon_. This was

really an exquisite example of the _rococo_ style, a rotunda as it were

of pale mirrors framed with superb gilded carvings. Even the ceiling was

covered with mirrors disposed slantwise so that on every side things

multiplied, mingled, and appeared under all possible aspects. Discreetly

enough no electric lights had been placed in the room, the only

illumination being that of some pink tapers burning in a pair of

candelabra. The hangings and upholstery were of soft blue silk, and the

impression on entering was very sweet and charming, as if one had found

oneself in the abode of some fairy queen of the rills, a palace of limpid

water, illumined to its farthest depths by clusters of stars.

Pierre at once perceived Monsignor Nani, who was sitting on a low couch,

and, as the prelate had hoped, he was quite alone, for the Cotillon had

attracted almost everybody to the picture gallery. And the silence in the

little _salon_ was nearly perfect, for at that distance the blare of the

orchestra subsided into a faint, flute-like murmur. The young priest at

once apologised to the prelate for having kept him waiting.

"No, no, my dear son," said Nani, with his inexhaustible amiability. "I

was very comfortable in this retreat--when the press of the crowd became

over-threatening I took refuge here." He did not speak of the King and

Queen, but he allowed it to be understood that he had politely avoided

their company. If he had come to the _fete_ it was on account of his

sincere affection for Celia and also with a very delicate diplomatic

object, for the Church wished to avoid any appearance of having entirely

broken with the Buongiovanni family, that ancient house which was so

famous in the annals of the papacy. Doubtless the Vatican was unable to

subscribe to this marriage which seemed to unite old Rome with the young

Kingdom of Italy, but on the other hand it did not desire people to think

that it abandoned old and faithful supporters and took no interest in

what befell them.

"But come, my dear son," the prelate resumed, "it is you who are now in

question. I told you that although the Congregation of the Index had