er,
seemed even to see the petty foreign priest who bent low as they went by.
They were chatting aloud in familiar fashion.

"Yes! the wind is falling; it is warmer than yesterday."

"We shall certainly have the sirocco to-morrow."

Then solemn silence again fell on the large, dim room. Don Vigilio was
still writing, but his pen made no noise as it travelled over the stiff
yellow paper. However, the faint tinkle of a cracked bell was suddenly
heard, and Abbe Paparelli, after hastening into the throne-room for a
moment, returned to summon Pierre, whom he announced in a restrained
voice: "Monsieur l'Abbe Pierre Froment."

The spacious throne-room was like the other apartments, a virtual ruin.
Under the fine ceiling of carved and gilded wood-work, the red
wall-hangings of _brocatelle_, with a large palm pattern, were falling
into tatters. A few holes had been patched, but long wear had streaked
the dark purple of the silk--once of dazzling magnificence--with pale
hues. The curiosity of the room was its old throne, an arm-chair
upholstered in red silk, on which the Holy Father had sat when visiting
Cardinal Pio's grand-uncle. This chair was surmounted by a canopy,
likewise of red silk, under which hung the portrait of the reigning Pope.
And, according to custom, the chair was turned towards the wall, to show
that none might sit on it. The other furniture of the apartment was made
up of sofas, arm-chairs, and chairs, with a marvellous Louis Quatorze
table of gilded wood, having a top of mosaic-work representing the rape
of Europa.

But at first Pierre only saw Cardinal Boccanera standing by the table
which he used for writing. In his simple black cassock, with red edging
and red buttons, the Cardinal seemed to him yet taller and prouder than
in the portrait which showed him in ceremonial costume. There was the
same curly white hair, the same long, strongly marked face, with large
nose and thin lips, and the same ardent eyes, illumining the pale
countenance from under bushy brows which had remained black. But the
portrait did not express the lofty tranquil faith which shone in this
handsome face, a complete certainty of what truth was, and an absolute
determination to abide by it for ever.

Boccanera had not stirred, but with black, fixed glance remained watching
his visitor's approach; and the young priest, acquainted with the usual
ceremonial, knelt and kissed the large ruby which the prelate wore on his
hand. Howeve