s to be facts, things which were whispered in Rome,
but which nevertheless, were doubted by many. Of one fact, however, she
was ignorant. The Pope had never been Bishop of Brescia. He had occupied
two episcopal chairs in the south. Jeanne did not answer; she was vexed
with herself, and mortified at having so nearly betrayed her secret.
Signora Albacina wished to know what opinion Benedetto had of the Pope.

"Oh, in the Pope he sees and venerates the office alone," said the
Professor. "At least, I believe so. I have never heard him speak of the
man, but I have heard him speak of the office. He made it the subject
of a magnificent discourse one evening, comparing Catholicism and
Protestantism, and exposing his ideal of the government of the Church:
a principality and just liberty. As to the new Pope, little is known of
him as yet. He is said to be saintly, intelligent, sickly, and weak."

While accompanying the ladies down the dark stairs to their carriage,
the Professor remarked:

"What is greatly feared is that Benedetto will not live. Mayda at least
fears this."

Signora Albacina, who was descending the stairs leaning on the
Professor's arm, exclaimed, without pausing:

"Oh! poor fellow! What is the matter with him?" "_Ma_! Who can say?"
the Professor replied. "Some incurable disease, it would seem, the
consequence of typhoid fever, which he had at Subiaco, but above all, of
the life of hardship he led, a life of penance and fasting."

And they continued their long descent in silence.

It was only on reaching the foot of the stairs that they perceived their
companion had remained behind. The Professor hastily retraced his
steps, and found Jeanne standing on the second landing, clinging to
the banisters. At first she neither spoke nor moved; but presently she
murmured:

"I cannot see!"

Guarnacci, not knowing, did not notice that moment of silence, or the
low and uncertain tone of her voice. He offered her his arm, and led her
down, apologising for the darkness, and explaining that the proprietor's
avarice was to blame for it. Jeanne entered Signora Albacina's carriage,
which was to take her to the Grand Hotel. On the way Signora Albacina
spoke with regret of what Guarnacci had just told her. Jeanne did not
open her lips. Her silence troubled her friend.

"Were you not pleased with the discourse?" she said. She was in complete
ignorance of Jeanne's religious opinions.

"Yes," her companion answered. "Why?"