aster. And these
events, then close at hand, were to deal the death-blow to papal
independence. The papacy was driven to bay, and those to whom the last
defence was confided were certainly justified in employing every means in
their power for strengthening their position. That Rome herself was
riddled with rotten conspiracies, and turned into a hunting-ground for
political spies, while the support she received from Louis Napoleon had
been already partially withdrawn, proves only how hard was the task of
that man who, against such odds, maintained so gallant a fight. It is no
wonder that he hunted down spies, and signed orders forcing suspicious
characters to leave the city at a day's notice; for the city was
practically in a state of siege, and any relaxation of the iron
discipline by which the great Cardinal governed would at any moment in
those twenty years have proved disastrous. He was hated and feared; more
than once he was in imminent danger of his life, but he did his duty in
his post. Had his authority fallen, it is impossible to say what evil
might have ensued to the city and its inhabitants--evils vastly more to
be feared than the entrance of an orderly Italian army through the Porta
Pia. For the recollections of Count Rossi's murder, and of the short and
lawless Republic of 1848, were fresh in the minds of the people, and
before they had faded there were dangerous rumours of a rising even less
truly Republican in theory, and far more fatal in the practical social
anarchy which must have resulted from its success. Giuseppe Mazzini had
survived his arch-enemy, the great Cavour, and his influence was
incalculable.

But my business is not to write the history of those uncertain days,
though no one who considers the social life of Rome, either then or now,
can afford to overlook the influence of political events upon the
everyday doings of men and women. We must follow the private carriage
containing the two respectable citizens who were on their way to Del
Ferice's house.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Now it chanced that Del Ferice was not at home at the hour when the
carriage containing the detectives drew up at his door. Indeed he was
rarely to be found at that time, for when he was not engaged elsewhere,
he dined with Donna Tullia and her old countess, accompanying them
afterwards to any of the quiet Lenten receptions to which they desired to
go. Temistocle was also out, for it was his hour for supper, a meal w