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anything. "His Eminence is still engaged with his Eminence Cardinal

Sanguinetti. Wait, wait there!"

Sanguinetti indeed had made a point of kneeling for a long time in front

of the bodies in the throne-room, and had then spun out his visit to

Donna Serafina in order to mark how largely he shared the family sorrow.

And for more than ten minutes now he had been closeted with Cardinal

Boccanera, nothing but an occasional murmur of their voices being heard

through the closed door.

Pierre, however, on finding Paparelli there, was again haunted by all

that Don Vigilio had told him. He looked at the train-bearer, so fat and

short, puffed out with bad fat in his dirty cassock, his face flabby and

wrinkled, and his whole person at forty years of age suggestive of that

of a very old maid: and he felt astonished. How was it that Cardinal

Boccanera, that superb prince who carried his head so high, and who was

so supremely proud of his name, had allowed himself to be captured and

swayed by such a frightful creature reeking of baseness and abomination?

Was it not the man's very physical degradation and profound humility that

had struck him, disturbed him, and finally fascinated him, as wondrous

gifts conducing to salvation, which he himself lacked? Paparelli's person

and disposition were like blows dealt to his own handsome presence and

his own pride. He, who could not be so deformed, he who could not

vanquish his passion for glory, must, by an effort of faith, have grown

jealous of that man who was so extremely ugly and so extremely

insignificant, he must have come to admire him as a superior force of

penitence and human abasement which threw the portals of heaven wide

open. Who can ever tell what ascendency is exercised by the monster over

the hero; by the horrid-looking saint covered with vermin over the

powerful of this world in their terror at having to endure everlasting

flames in payment of their terrestrial joys? And 'twas indeed the lion

devoured by the insect, vast strength and splendour destroyed by the

invisible. Ah! to have that fine soul which was so certain of paradise,

which for its welfare was enclosed in such a disgusting body, to possess

the happy humility of that wide intelligence, that remarkable theologian,

who scourged himself with rods each morning on rising, and was content to

be the lowest of servants.

Standing there a heap of livid fat, Paparelli on his side watched Pierre

with his little grey eyes blinking amidst the myriad wrinkles of his

face. And the young priest began to feel uneasy, wondering what their

Eminences could be saying to one another, shut up together like that for

so long a time. And what an interview it must be if Boccanera suspected

Sanguinetti of counting Santobono among his clients. What serene audacity

it was on Sanguinetti's part to have dared to present himself in that

house, and what strength of soul there must be on Boccanera's part, what

empire over himself, to prevent all scandal by remaining silent and

accepting the visit as a simple mark of esteem and affection! What could

they be saying to one another, however? How interesting it would have

been to have seen them face to face, and have heard them exchange the

diplomatic phrases suited to such an interview, whilst their souls were

raging with furious hatred!

All at once the door opened and Cardinal Sanguinetti appeared with calm

face, no ruddier than usual, indeed a trifle paler, and retaining the

fitting measure of sorrow which he had thought it right to assume. His

restless eyes alone revealed his delight at being rid of a difficult

task. And he was going off, all hope, in the conviction that he was the

only eligible candidate to the papacy that remained.

Abbe Paparelli had darted forward: "If your Eminence will kindly follow

me--I will escort your Eminence to the door." Then, turning towards

Pierre, he added: "You may go in now."

Pierre watched them walk away, the one so humble behind the other, who

was so triumphant. Then he entered the little work-room, furnished simply

with a table and three chairs, and in the centre of it he at once

perceived Cardinal Boccanera still standing in the lofty, noble attitude

which he had assumed to take leave of Sanguinetti, his hated rival to the

pontifical throne. And, visibly, Boccanera also believed himself the only

possible pope, the one whom the coming Conclave would elect.

However, when the door had been closed, and the Cardinal beheld that

young priest, his guest, who had witnessed the death of those two dear

children lying in the adjoining room, he was again mastered by emotion,

an unexpected attack of weakness in which all his energy collapsed. His

human feelings were taking their revenge now that his rival was no longer

there to see him. He staggered like an old tree smitten with the axe, and

sank upon a chair, stifling with sobs.

And as Pierre, according to usage, was about to stoop and kiss his ring,

he raised him and at once made him sit down, stammering in a halting

voice: "No, no, my dear son! Seat yourself there, wait--Excuse me, leave

me to myself for a moment, my heart is bursting."

He sobbed with his hands to his face, unable to master himself, unable to

drive back his grief with those yet vigorous fingers which were pressed

to his cheeks and temples.

Tears came into Pierre's eyes, for he also lived through all that woe

afresh, and was much upset by the weeping of that tall old man, that

saint and prince, usually so haughty, so fully master of himself, but now

only a poor, suffering, agonising man, as weak and as lost as a child.

However, although the young priest was likewise stifling with grief, he

desired to present his condolences, and sought for kindly words by which

he might soothe the other's despair. "I beg your Eminence to believe in

my profound grief," he said. "I have been overwhelmed with kindness here,

and desired at once to tell your Eminence how much that irreparable

loss--"

But with a brave gesture the Cardinal silenced him. "No, no, say nothing,

for mercy's sake say nothing!"

And silence reigned while he continued weeping, shaken by the struggle he

was waging, his efforts to regain sufficient strength to overcome

himself. At last he mastered his quiver and slowly uncovered his face,

which had again become calm, like that of a believer strong in his faith,

and submissive to the will of God. In refusing a miracle, in dealing so

hard a blow to that house, God had doubtless had His reasons, and he, the

Cardinal, one of God's ministers, one of the high dignitaries of His

terrestrial court, was in duty bound to bow to it. The silence lasted for

another moment, and then, in a voice which he managed to render natural

and cordial, Boccanera said: "You are leaving us, you are going back to

France to-morrow, are you not, my dear son?"

"Yes, I shall have the honour to take leave of your Eminence to-morrow,

again thanking your Eminence for your inexhaustible kindness."

"And you have learnt that the Congregation of the Index has condemned

your book, as was inevitable?"

"Yes, I obtained the signal favour of being received by his Holiness, and

in his presence made my submission and reprobated my book."

The Cardinal's moist eyes again began to sparkle. "Ah! you did that, ah!

you did well, my dear son," he said. "It was only your strict duty as a

priest, but there are so many nowadays who do not even do their duty! As

a member of the Congregation I kept the promise I gave you to read your

book, particularly the incriminated pages. And if I afterwards remained

neutral, to such a point even as to miss the sitting in which judgment

was pronounced, it was only to please my poor, dear niece, who was so

fond of you, and who pleaded your cause to me."

Tears were coming into his eyes again, and he paused, feeling that he

would once more be overcome if he evoked the memory of that adored and

lamented Benedetta. And so it was with a pugnacious bitterness that he

resumed: "But what an execrable book it was, my dear son, allow me to

tell you so. You told me that you had shown respect for dogma, and I

still wonder what aberration can have come over you that you should have

been so blind to all consciousness of your offences. Respect for

dogma--good Lord! when the entire work is the negation of our holy

religion! Did you not realise that by asking for a new religion you

absolutely condemned the old one, the only true one, the only good one,

the only one that can be eternal? And that sufficed to make your book the

most deadly of poisons, one of those infamous books which in former times

were burnt by the hangman, and which one is nowadays compelled to leave

in circulation after interdicting them and thereby designating them to

evil curiosity, which explains the contagious rottenness of the century.

Ah! I well recognised there some of the ideas of our distinguished and

poetical relative, that dear Viscount Philibert de la Choue. A man of

letters, yes! a man of letters! Literature, mere literature! I beg God to

forgive him, for he most surely does not know what he is doing, or

whither he is going with his elegiac Christianity for talkative working

men and young persons of either sex, to whom scientific notions have

given vagueness of soul. And I only feel angry with his Eminence Cardinal

Bergerot, for he at any rate knows what he does, and does as he pleases.

No, say nothing, do not defend him. He personifies Revolution in the

Church, and is against God."

Although Pierre had resolved that he would not reply or argue, he had

allowed a gesture of protest to escape him on hearing this furious attack

upon the man whom he most respected in the whole world. However, he

yielded to Cardinal Boccanera's injunction and again bowed.

"I cannot sufficiently express my horror," the Cardinal roughly

continued; "yes, my horror for all that hollow dream of a new religion!

That appeal to the most hideous passions which stir up the poor against

the rich, by promising them I know not what division of wealth, what

community of possession which is nowadays impossible! That base flattery

shown to the lower orders to whom equality and justice are promised but

never given, for these can come from God alone, it is only He who can

finally make them reign on the day appointed by His almighty power! And

there is even that interested charity which people abuse of to rail

against Heaven itself and accuse it of iniquity and indifference, that

lackadaisical weakening charity and compassion, unworthy of strong firm

hearts, for it is as if human suffering were not necessary for salvation,

as if we did not become more pure, greater and nearer to the supreme

happiness, the more and more we suffer!"

He was growing excited, full of anguish, and superb. It was his

bereavement, his heart wound, which thus exasperated him, the great blow

which had felled him for a moment, but against which he again rose erect,

defying grief, and stubborn in his stoic belief in an omnipotent God, who

was the master of mankind, and reserved felicity to those whom He

selected. Again, however, he made an effort to calm himself, and resumed

in a more gentle voice: "At all events the fold is always open, my dear

son, and here you are back in it since you have repented. You cannot

imagine how happy it makes me."

In his turn Pierre strove to show himself conciliatory in order that he

might not further ulcerate that violent, grief-stricken soul: "Your

Eminence," said he, "may be sure that I shall endeavour to remember every

one of the kind words which your Eminence has spoken to me, in the same

way as I shall remember the fatherly greeting of his Holiness Leo XIII."

This sentence seemed to throw Boccanera into agitation again. At first

only murmured, restrained words came from him, as if he were struggling

against a desire to question the young priest. "Ah yes! you saw his

Holiness, you spoke to him, and he told you I suppose, as he tells all

the foreigners who go to pay their respects to him, that he desires

conciliation and peace. For my part I now only see him when it is

absolutely necessary; for more than a year I have not been received in

private audience."

This proof of disfavour, of the covert struggle which as in the days of

Pius IX kept the Holy Father and the _Camerlingo_ at variance, filled the

latter with bitterness. He was unable to restrain himself and spoke out,

reflecting no doubt that he had a familiar before him, one whose

discretion was certain, and who moreover was leaving Rome on the morrow.

"One may go a long way," said he, "with those fine words, peace and

conciliation, which are so often void of real wisdom and courage. The

terrible truth is that Leo XIII's eighteen years of concessions have

shaken everything in the Church, and should he long continue to reign

Catholicism would topple over and crumble into dust like a building whose

pillars have been undermined."

Interested by this remark, Pierre in his desire for knowledge began to

raise objections. "But hasn't his Holiness shown himself very prudent?"

he asked; "has he not placed dogma on one side in an impregnable

fortress? If he seems to have made concessions on many points, have they

not always been concessions in mere matters of form?"

"Matters of form; ah, yes!" the Cardinal resumed with increasing passion.

"He told you, no doubt, as he tells others, that whilst in substance he

will make no surrender, he will readily yield in matters of form! It's a

deplorable axiom, an equivocal form of diplomacy even when it isn't so

much low hypocrisy! My soul revolts at the thought of that Opportunism,

that Jesuitism which makes artifice its weapon, and only serves to cast

doubt among true believers, the confusion of a _sauve-qui-peut_, which by

and by must lead to inevitable defeat. It is cowardice, the worst form of