element of
strength he was lost to the Church. What would he do now? Something
foolish no doubt. However, the prelate had to content himself with having
helped him to repair his first folly; he could not foresee the future.
And he gracefully waved his hand as if to say that sufficient unto the
day was the evil thereof.

"Will you allow me to conclude, my dear son?" he at last exclaimed. "Be
sensible, your happiness as a priest and a man lies in humility. You will
be terribly unhappy if you use the great intelligence which God has given
you against Him."

Then with another gesture he dismissed this affair, which was all over,
and with which he need busy himself no more. And thereupon the other
affair came back to make him gloomy, that other affair which also was
drawing to a close, but so tragically, with those two poor children
slumbering in the adjoining room. "Ah!" he resumed, "that poor Princess
and that poor Cardinal quite upset my heart! Never did catastrophe fall
so cruelly on a house. No, no, it is indeed too much, misfortune goes too
far--it revolts one's soul!"

Just as he finished a sound of voices came from the second ante-room, and
Pierre was thunderstruck to see Cardinal Sanguinetti go by, escorted with
the greatest obsequiousness by Abbe Paparelli.

"If your most Reverend Eminence will have the extreme kindness to follow
me," the train-bearer was saying, "I will conduct your most Reverend
Eminence myself."

"Yes," replied Sanguinetti, "I arrived yesterday evening from Frascati,
and when I heard the sad news, I at once desired to express my sorrow and
offer consolation."

"Your Eminence will perhaps condescend to remain for a moment near the
bodies. I will afterwards escort your Eminence to the private
apartments."

"Yes, by all means. I desire every one to know how greatly I participate
in the sorrow which has fallen on this illustrious house."

Then Sanguinetti entered the throne-room, leaving Pierre quite aghast at
his quiet audacity. The young priest certainly did not accuse him of
direct complicity with Santobono, he did not even dare to measure how far
his moral complicity might go. But on seeing him pass by like that, his
brow so lofty, his speech so clear, he had suddenly felt convinced that
he knew the truth. How or through whom, he could not have told; but
doubtless crimes become known in those shady spheres by those whose
interest it is to know of them. And Pierre remained quite chille