ewhere above: a military band stationed aloft in the cupola had
struck up a psalm of praise, and it seemed to the listeners to come from
heaven itself. Silver trumpets--so the faithful believe--are used in
rendering this piece.

All faces were now turned toward the _loggia_, a sort of projecting
balcony high up on the front of the cathedral. A sound like the murmur
of the sea rose from the multitude: each spectator was shifting his
position, and seeking a clearer view. Then the _loggia_ became suddenly
filled with moving forms,--cardinals in their splendid robes, knights in
mediaeval armour, pages in costly livery. The crown-bearers advanced with
two triple tiaras, one the gift of Napoleon I., the other presented by
the queen of Spain, and both sparkling with diamonds. A third
crown,--the oldest of all, originally simple in form, then a double
diadem, and finally a threefold tiara,--encircled the head of the Pope
himself, who, seated on a golden throne, was borne forward to the stone
breastwork, on which two crowns had been placed by their bearers. The
pontiff rose from his seat and the sun shone full upon his venerable
form. He wore a white robe embroidered with gold, and his appearance was
radiant with light. The benignant smile that illumined his countenance
outshone all the diamonds in his triple crown.

How happy was Princess Blanka at that moment! and hers were the fairest
gems in all that costly array,--two tears that glistened in her large
dark eyes as she gazed intently on the scene before her.

The two youngest cardinals took their stand on either side of the Pope,
each holding a palm-leaf in his hand. Then, over the awed and silent
throng before him, in a voice still strong, sonorous, and vibrant with
feeling, the aged pontiff pronounced his blessing in words at once
simple, sincere, and gracious.

Blanka and Manasseh exchanged glances, and the young man felt a
tear-drop fall upon his cheek. From that moment an indissoluble bond
united the two.

When the benediction was over, a stentorian voice from the multitude
cried, "_Evviva Pio Nono!_" The shout was caught up by all the vast
throng, and sent heavenward in a united cry of ever-swelling volume. Not
merely Pius IX., but St. Peter himself seemed to stand before the
jubilant multitude, opening heaven's gates with one key, and the portals
of an earthly paradise of freedom with another. The two cardinals cast
their palm-leaves down to the people, and as th