r, but she paid no heed.

"Look at the acolytes swinging incense, and the golden cross coming
before! What thunders of applause--I can hardly hear myself speak. It's
like standing on a cliff while the sea below is running mountains high.
No, it's like no other sound on earth; it's human--fifty thousand
unloosed throats of men! That's the clapping of ladies--listen to the
weak applause of their white-gloved fingers. Now they're waving their
handkerchiefs. Look! Like the wings of ten thousand butterflies
fluttering up from a meadow."

Roma's abandonment was by this time complete; she was waving her
handkerchief and crying "_Viva il Papa Re!_"

"They're bearing him slowly along. He's coming this way. Look at the
Noble Guard in their helmets and jackboots. And there are the Swiss
Guard in Joseph's coat of many colours! We can see him plainly now. Do
you smell the incense? It's like the ribbon of Bruges. The pluviale?
That gold vestment? It's studded on his breast with precious stones. How
they blaze in the sunshine! He is blessing the people, and they are
falling on their knees before him."

"Like the grass before the scythe!"

"How tired he looks! How white his face is! No, not white--ivory! No,
marble--Carrara marble! He might be Lazarus who was dead and has come
back from the tomb! No humanity left in him! A saint! An angel!"

"The spiritual autocrat of the world!"

"_Viva il Papa Re!_ He's going by! _Viva il Papa Re!_ He has
gone.... Well!"

She was rising from her knees and wiping her eyes, trying to cover up
with laughter the confusion of her rapture.

"What is that?"

There was a sound of voices in the distance chanting dolorously.

"The cantors intoning _Tu es Petrus_," said Don Camillo.

"No, I mean the commotion down there. Somebody is pushing through the
Guard."

"It's David Rossi," said the American.

"Is that David Rossi? Oh, dear me! I had forgotten all about him." She
moved forward to see his face. "Why ... where have I ... I've seen him
before somewhere."

A strange physical sensation tingled all over her at that moment, and
she shuddered as if with sudden cold.

"What's amiss?"

"Nothing! But I like him. Do you know, I really like him."

"Women are funny things," said the American.

"They're nice, though, aren't they?" And two rows of pearly teeth
between parted lips gleamed up at him with gay raillery.

Again she craned forward. "He is on his knees to the Pope! Now he'll
present