d
by a side door and made his way to the very foot of the line where the
Hungarians were standing.
"Serenissima principessa de Cagliari! Nobilis domina vidua de Dormand!
Egregius dominus de Zimand!"
This ceremonious apostrophe was followed by a wave of the hand, which
indicated that the persons addressed were to follow the speaker, and
that they were granted the special favour of a private hearing before
his Holiness. Through the long hall, past lines of waiting men and
women, they made their way; and as they went, inquiring looks and
suppressed whispers followed them. The princess was recognised by many
as the fortunate recipient of the consecrated palm-leaf on the day
before, and they whispered one to another, "Ah, _la beata!_"
This sudden turn of affairs drove Gabriel Zimandy's Latin speech
completely out of his head, so that he could not have given even the
first word. As he hastened forward in all his court toggery, as he
called it, he could have sworn that there were at least fifty swords
dangling between his legs and doing their best to trip him up. After
passing through a seemingly endless succession of splendid halls and
stately corridors, the party was ushered into an apartment opening on
the magnificent gardens of the Vatican. Here it was that Pio Nono was
wont to receive the ladies whom he favoured with a private audience.
The princess and her companions stood before the august head of the
Church, the sovereign who acknowledges no earthly boundaries to his
dominions. Blanka felt a deep joy in her heart as she looked on that
benignant countenance, her eyes filled with tears, and she sank on her
knees. The Pope bent and graciously raised her to her feet. He laid his
hand on her head, and spoke to her words of comfort which she enshrined
in the inmost sanctuary of her heart.
When the audience was over and our friends had retired, Gabriel Zimandy
could not have given any coherent account of what had passed, nor,
indeed, was he in the least certain whether he had unburdened himself of
his Latin speech, or stuck fast at the _beatissime pater_. Madam
Dormandy, however, was sure to enlighten him as soon as they regained
their hotel. He knew at least that the written petition which he had
carried in his hand was no longer on his person; hence he must have
accomplished his main object.
Madam Dormandy alone seemed to have kept her wits about her through it
all. She was able to tell how the Pope, while Zima
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