up to the Pope's apartment, and a secret
passage to the Castle of St. Angelo."

"Say, has the Pope got that secret passage still?"

"No, sir. When the Castle went over to the King the connection with the
Vatican was cut off. Ah, everything is changed since those days! The
Pope used to go to St. Peter's surrounded by his Cardinals and Bishops,
to the roll of drums and the roar of cannon. All that is over now. The
present Pope is trying to revive the old condition seemingly, but what
can he do? Even the Bull proclaiming the Jubilee laments the loss of the
temporal power which would have permitted him to renew the enchantments
of the Holy City."

"Tell him it's just lovely as it is," said the girl on the obelisk, "and
when the illuminations begin...."

"Say, friend," said her parent again, "Rome belonged to the Pope--yes?
Then the Italians came in and took it and made it the capital of
Italy--so?"

"Just so, and ever since then the Holy Father has been a prisoner in the
Vatican, going into it as a cardinal and coming out of it as a corpse,
and to-day will be the first time a Pope has set foot in the streets of
Rome!"

"My! And shall we see him in his prison clothes?"

"Lilian Martha! Don't you know enough for that? Perhaps you expect to
see his chains and a straw of his bed in the cell? The Pope is a king
and has a court--that's the way I am figuring it."

"True, the Pope is a sovereign still, and he is surrounded by his
officers of state--Cardinal Secretary, Majordomo, Master of Ceremonies,
Steward, Chief of Police, Swiss Guards, Noble Guard and Palatine Guard,
as well as the Papal Guard who live in the garden and patrol the
precincts night and day."

"Then where the nation ... prisoner, you say?"

"Prisoner indeed! Not even able to look out of his windows on to this
piazza on the 20th of September without the risk of insult and
outrage--and Heaven knows what will happen when he ventures out to-day!"

"Well! this goes clear ahead of me!"

Beyond the outer cordon of troops many carriages were drawn up in
positions likely to be favourable for a view of the procession. In one
of these sat a Frenchman in a coat covered with medals, a florid,
fiery-eyed old soldier with bristling white hair. Standing by his
carriage door was a typical young Roman, fashionable, faultlessly
dressed, pallid, with strong lower jaw, dark watchful eyes, twirled-up
moustache and cropped black mane.

"Ah, yes," said the old Frenchman