the way," said he; "people tire themselves out so before
Saturday that on that day five-sixths of the crowd stay at home to save
up their strength for Easter, and thus miss one of the most impressive
spectacles of the week,--the adoration of the true cross."

Poor Gabriel was now given no rest: he was forced to accompany the
others once more to the Sistine Chapel, though he declared himself
already quite stiff and sore with so much standing.

The chapel was at its best; the black hangings had been removed, the
light from the windows was softened, candles burned on the altar, and,
as Manasseh had predicted, so many of the sightseers had stayed at home
that ample room was left for those who were present. The general
multitude could find little pleasure in the ceremony of the day,--the
worship of a piece of wood about three yards in length, and unadorned
with gold or silver. The Pope and the cardinals, gowned with no pretence
to magnificence or pomp, knelt before the relic as it lay on the altar.
It was but a fragment of the original cross, broken in the strife that
attended its rescue. This piece is said to have been saved and carried
off by an emperor, making his way barefoot from Jerusalem to Alexandria,
where another emperor concealed the precious relic in a statue, and
finally the Templars bore it in triumph through pagan hordes from
Constantinople to Rome. And now, when the head of the Church, the pastor
of a flock of two hundred million human beings, the keeper of the keys
of heaven, approaches this bit of wood, he strips himself of his
splendid robes, removes the crown from his head, the shoes from his
feet, and goes, simply clad and barefoot, with humble mien, to kneel and
kiss the sacred emblem. The cardinals follow his example, and meanwhile
the choir sings Palestrina's famous composition, the "Mass of Pope
Marcellinus," a wonderful piece that must have been first sung to the
composer by the angels themselves.

When the last notes of the music had died away, the bells of St. Peter's
began to ring, the hangings before the windows were drawn aside, and
Michael Angelo's marvellous frescoes were fully revealed to the admiring
gaze of all present. The swords and halberds of the guards were once
more raised erect, and the choir, the prelates, and the pilgrims joined
in a common "Hallelujah!"

"Hallelujah!" cried Gabriel Zimandy also, rejoicing that the ceremony
was finally ended. "Never before in all my life have