ve 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,