d out under the lifted
scarlet curtains into the blazing sunlight of the street; and the sound
of their chanting died into a rolling murmur, drowned in the pealing
of new and newer voices, as the unending stream flowed on, and yet new
footsteps echoed down the nave.

The companies of the parishes passed, with their white shrouds and
veiled faces; then the brothers of the Misericordia, black from head to
foot, their eyes faintly gleaming through the holes in their masks. Next
came the monks in solemn row: the mendicant friars, with their dusky
cowls and bare, brown feet; the white-robed, grave Dominicans. Then
followed the lay officials of the district; dragoons and carabineers
and the local police-officials; the Governor in gala uniform, with his
brother officers beside him. A deacon followed, holding up a great cross
between two acolytes with gleaming candles; and as the curtains were
lifted high to let them pass out at the doorway, Montanelli caught a
momentary glimpse, from where he stood under the canopy, of the sunlit
blaze of carpeted street and flag-hung walls and white-robed children
scattering roses. Ah, the roses; how red they were!

On and on the procession paced in order; form succeeding to form and
colour to colour. Long white surplices, grave and seemly, gave place
to gorgeous vestments and embroidered pluvials. Now passed a tall and
slender golden cross, borne high above the lighted candles; now the
cathedral canons, stately in their dead white mantles. A chaplain paced
down the chancel, with the crozier between two flaring torches; then the
acolytes moved forward in step, their censers swinging to the rhythm of
the music; the bearers raised the canopy higher, counting their steps:
"One, two; one, two!" and Montanelli started upon the Way of the Cross.

Down the chancel steps and all along the nave he passed; under the
gallery where the organ pealed and thundered; under the lifted curtains
that were so red--so fearfully red; and out into the glaring street,
where the blood-red roses lay and withered, crushed into the red carpet
by the passing of many feet. A moment's pause at the door, while the
lay officials came forward to replace the canopy-bearers; then the
procession moved on again, and he with it, his hands clasping the
Eucharistic sun, and the voices of the choristers swelling and dying
around him, with the rhythmical swaying of censers and the rolling tramp
of feet.

"Verbum caro, pan