arted to his feet and embraced the orator. Di Leyni
fixed upon him eyes aflame with enthusiasm. Dane, Selva, Don Clemente,
and the other monk were silent and embarrassed, feeling--especially
the three ecclesiastics--that Minucci had gone too far, that his words
concerning the extent and intensity of faith, concerning the fear of
Peter, were not weighed; that the whole tone of his discourse was too
aggressive, and not in harmony with Dane's mystical exhortation, or with
the language Selva had used in delineating the character of the proposed
association. The Genevese abbe had never for a moment removed his small
bright eyes from Minucci's face while he was speaking. He watched Don
Paolo's demonstration with an expression of mingled irony and pity; then
he rose:

"Very well," he said; "I do not know whether my friend Dane, in
particular, shares this gentleman's views. Indeed, I am inclined to
doubt it. The speaker mentioned Peter. In truth it seems to me the
present company is preparing to leave Peter's bark, in the hope perhaps
of being able to walk upon the waves. I humbly declare that my faith
is not sufficient, and I should sink at once. I intend to remain in the
bark, at the most plying a small oar, according to my light, for, as
this gentleman says, I am very timid. It is therefore necessary for us
to part, and it only remains for me to beg you to pardon my coming. I
feel the need of a stroll to aid my digestion. Dear friend," said he
addressing Dane, "we shall meet at the Aniene." He approached Selva to
bid him good-night, his hand extended. At once the entire company, with
the exception of Don Paolo and Minucci, gathered round him, urging him
to remain. He insisted quietly, checking his over-zealous assailants
with a cold smile, a delicately sarcastic phrase, or a graceful gesture.
Di Leyni turned to Fare, motioning to him to join the others; but the
fiery Don Paolo responded only by an emphatic shrug and a scowl of
irritation. In the meantime, a Tuscan voice was heard above the clamour
of Marinier's assailants.

"_Stia bono!_" it said. "As yet nothing has been decided! Wait! I have
not yet spoken!"

The speaker was Father Salvati, a _Scolopio,_ and an old man with snowy
hair, a florid complexion, and bright eyes.

"Nothing has as yet been decided," he repeated. "I, for one, approve of
uniting, but I have one special end in view, while the discourses I have
heard seem to me to favour a very different end. Inte