hose
words "a new religion," as if it were not clear to everybody that they
simply signified the return of Catholicism to the primitive purity of
Christianity! Was that one of the crimes denounced to the Congregation of
the Index? He had begun to suspect who his accusers were, and felt
alarmed, for he was now conscious of secret subterranean plotting, a
great stealthy effort to strike him down and suppress his work. All that
surrounded him became suspicious. If he listened to advice and
temporised, it was solely to follow the same politic course as his
adversaries, to learn to know them before acting. He would spend a few
days in meditation, in surveying and studying that black world of Rome
which to him had proved so unexpected. But, at the same time, in the
revolt of his apostle-like faith, he swore, even as he had said to Nani,
that he would never yield, never change either a page or a line of his
book, but maintain it in its integrity in the broad daylight as the
unshakable testimony of his belief. Even were the book condemned by the
Index, he would not tender submission, withdraw aught of it. And should
it become necessary he would quit the Church, he would go even as far as
schism, continuing to preach the new religion and writing a new book,
_Real Rome_, such as he now vaguely began to espy.

However, Don Vigilio had ceased writing, and gazed so fixedly at Pierre
that the latter at last stepped up to him politely in order to take
leave. And then the secretary, yielding, despite his fears, to a desire
to confide in him, murmured, "He came simply on your account, you know;
he wanted to ascertain the result of your interview with his Eminence."

It was not necessary for Don Vigilio to mention Nani by name; Pierre
understood. "Really, do you think so?" he asked.

"Oh! there is no doubt of it. And if you take my advice you will do what
he desires with a good grace, for it is absolutely certain that you will
do it later on."

These words brought Pierre's disquietude and exasperation to a climax. He
went off with a gesture of defiance. They would see if he would ever
yield.

The three ante-rooms which he again crossed appeared to him blacker,
emptier, more lifeless than ever. In the second one Abbe Paparelli
saluted him with a little silent bow; in the first the sleepy lackey did
not even seem to see him. A spider was weaving its web between the
tassels of the great red hat under the _baldacchino_. Would not the
b