ddressed to the Honourable Rossi in a woman's writing, and had been
re-addressed to the Chamber of Deputies from London, Paris, and Berlin.

"An official from the post-office gave me these letters, and asked me if
I could deliver them," said the young soldier.

"My son, my son, didn't you see that it was a trap?" said the Pope. "But
no matter! Give them to me. We must leave all to the Holy Spirit."

IV

"The dress of a simple priest to-day, Gaetanino," said the Pope, when
his valet came to his bedroom on the following morning.

After Mass and the usual visit of the Cardinal Secretary, the Pope
called for the young Count de Raymond.

"We'll go down to our guest first," he said, putting into the
side-pocket of his cassock the letters which the Noble Guard had given
him.

They found Rossi sitting in a large, sparsely furnished room, by an
almost untouched breakfast. He lifted his head when he heard steps, and
rose as the Pope entered. His pale face was a picture of despair.
"Something has died in him," thought the Pope, and an aching sadness,
which had been gnawing at his heart for days, returned.

"They make you comfortable in this old place, my son?"

"Yes, your Holiness."

"And you have everything you wish for?"

"More than I deserve, your Holiness."

"You have suffered, my son. But, in the providence of God, who knows
what may happen yet? Don't lose heart. Take an old man's word for
it--life is worth living. The Holy Father has found it so in spite of
many sorrows."

A kind of pitying smile passed over the young man's miserable face.
"Mine is a sorrow your Holiness can know nothing about--I have lost my
wife," he said.

There was a moment of silence. Then the Pope said in a voice that shook
slightly, "You don't mean that your wife _is_ dead, but only...."

"Only," said Rossi, with a curl of the lip, "that it was she who
betrayed me."

"It's hard, my son, very hard. But who knows what influences...."

"Curse them! Curse the influences, whatever they were, which caused a
wife to betray her husband."

The Pope, who was sitting with both hands on the knob of his stick,
quivered perceptibly. "My son," he said, "you have much to justify you,
and it is not for me to gainsay you altogether. But God rules His world
in righteousness, and if this had not happened, who knows but what worse
might have befallen you?"

"Nothing worse _could_ have befallen me, your Holiness."