"Indeed they should."

"Then it is not possible for your Holiness to reveal what you heard this

morning without bringing trouble to the penitent and wronging her in

relation to her husband."

"God forbid that I should do so, whatever happens. But is a priest

forbidden to speak of a sin heard in confession if he can do so in such

a way that the identity of the penitent cannot be discovered?"

"Your Holiness intends to do that?"

"Why not?"

"The Holy Father knows best. For my own part, your Holiness, I think it

a danger to tamper with the secrets of a soul, whatever the good end in

view or the evil to be prevented."

The Capuchin looked round to where the horses were pawing the path and

the Guards stood by the carriage.

"Thirty-five years ago we had a terrible lesson in such dangers, your

Holiness."

The Pope dropped his head and continued to scrape the gravel.

"Your Holiness remembers the poor young woman who told her confessor she

was about to marry a rich young man. The confessor thought it his duty

to tell the young man's father in general terms that such a marriage was

to be contracted. What was the result? The marriage took place in secret

and ended in grief and death."

The Pope rose uneasily. "We will not speak of that. It was a case of a

father's pride and perverted ambition. This is a different case

altogether. A man who is a prey to diabolical illusions, an enemy of the

Church and of social order, is hatching a plot which can only end in

mischief and bloodshed. The Holy Father knows it. Shall he keep this

guilty knowledge locked in his own bosom? God forbid!"

"Then you intend to warn the civil authorities?"

"I must. It is my duty. How could I lay my head on my pillow and not do

it? But I will do it discreetly. I will commit no one, and this poor

lady shall remain unknown."

The venerable old men, each leaning on his stick, walked down a path

lined by clipped yews, shaded by cypresses, and almost overgrown with

crocus, anemone, and violet. Suddenly from the bushes there came a

flutter of wings, followed by the scream of a bird, and in a moment the

Pope's cat had leapt on to a marble which stood in the midst of the

jungle. It was an ancient sarcophagus, placed there as a fountain, but

the spring that had fed it was dry, and in its moss-grown mouth a bird

had made its nest. The cat was about to pounce down on the eggs when the

Pope laid hold of it.




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