med the Prince, "it's misery beyond belief. On the day she
took me to the Quartiere dei Prati* I was quite overcome; it was awful,
astonishingly awful!"

* The district of the castle meadows--see _ante_ note.--Trans.

"But I remember that we promised to go to see the poor people," resumed
Benedetta, "and we have done wrong in delaying our visit so long. For
your studies, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, you greatly desired to accompany
us and see the poor of Rome--was that not so?"

As she spoke she raised her eyes to Pierre, who for a moment had been
silent. He was much moved by her charitable thought, for he realised, by
the faint quiver of her voice, that she desired to appear a docile pupil,
progressing in affection for the lowly and the wretched. Moreover, his
passion for his apostolate had at once returned to him. "Oh!" said he, "I
shall not quit Rome without having seen those who suffer, those who lack
work and bread. Therein lies the malady which affects every nation;
salvation can only be attained by the healing of misery. When the roots
of the tree cannot find sustenance the tree dies."

"Well," resumed the Contessina, "we will fix an appointment at once; you
shall come with us to the Quartiere dei Prati--Dario will take us there."

At this the Prince, who had listened to the priest with an air of
stupefaction, unable to understand the simile of the tree and its roots,
began to protest distressfully, "No, no, cousin, take Monsieur l'Abbe for
a stroll there if it amuses you. But I've been, and don't want to go
back. Why, when I got home the last time I was so upset that I almost
took to my bed. No, no; such abominations are too awful--it isn't
possible."

At this moment a voice, bitter with displeasure, arose from the chimney
corner. Donna Serafina was emerging from her long silence. "Dario is
quite right! Send your alms, my dear, and I will gladly add mine. There
are other places where you might take Monsieur l'Abbe, and which it would
be far more useful for him to see. With that idea of yours you would send
him away with a nice recollection of our city."

Roman pride rang out amidst the old lady's bad temper. Why, indeed, show
one's sores to foreigners, whose visit is possibly prompted by hostile
curiosity? One always ought to look beautiful; Rome should not be shown
otherwise than in the garb of glory.

Narcisse, however, had taken possession of Pierre. "It's true, my dear
Abbe," said he; "I forgot to reco