"Could you think like that?"

"I could! I could! I could!"

The clock struck eleven. Another fanfare of trumpets came from the

direction of the Vatican, and then the confused noises in the square

suddenly ceased and a broad "Ah!" passed over it, as of a vast living

creature taking breath.

"They're coming!" cried Roma. "Baron, the cortège is coming."

"Presently," the Baron answered from within.

Roma's dog, which had slept on a chair through the tumult, was awakened

by the lull and began to bark. She picked it up, tucked it under her arm

and ran back to the balcony, where she stood by the parapet, in full

view of the people below, with the young Roman on one side, the American

on the other, and the ladies seated around.

By this time the procession had begun to appear, issuing from a bronze

gate under the right arm of the colonnade, and passing down the channel

which had been kept open by the cordon of infantry.

Roma abandoned herself to the fascinations of the scene, and her gaiety

infected everybody.

"Camillo, you must tell me who they all are. There now--those men who

come first in black and red?"

"Laymen," said the young Roman. "They're called the Apostolic Cursori.

When a Cardinal is nominated they take him the news, and get two or

three thousand francs for their trouble."

"And these little fat folk in white lace pinafores?"

"Singers of the Sistine Chapel. That's the Director, old Maestro

Mustafa--used to be the greatest soprano of the century."

"And this dear old friar with the mittens and rosary and the comfortable

linsey-woolsey sort of face?"

"That's Father Pifferi of San Lorenzo, confessor to the Pope. He knows

all the Pope's sins."

"Oh!" said Roma.

At that moment her dog barked furiously, and the old friar looked up at

her, whereupon she smiled down on him, and then a half-smile played

about his good-natured face.

"He is a Capuchin, and those Frati in different colours coming behind

him...."

"I know them; see if I don't," she cried, as there passed under the

balcony a double file of friars and monks. "The brown ones--Capuchins

and Franciscans! Brown and white--Carmelites! Black--Augustinians and

Benedictines! Black with a white cross--Passionists! And the monks all

white are Trappists. I know the Trappists best, because I drive out to

Tre Fontane to buy eucalyptus and flirt with Father John."

"Shocking!" said the American.




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