"Yes, if the confessional were in question. The world knows that the

seal of the confessional is sacred, and must be observed at all costs.

But this is not a case of the confessional."

"Didn't your Holiness say you would observe it as such?"

"And I shall. But what about the public? Accident has told the

Government that this is not a case of the confessional, and the

Government will tell the world. What follows? If I refuse to do anything

the enemies of the Church will give it out that the Holy Father is an

accomplice of a regicide, ready and willing to intrigue with the agents

of rebellion to regain the temporal power."

"Then you will receive the Prime Minister?"

"No! Or if so, only in the company of his superior."

"The King?"

"Yes."

The Capuchin removed his skull-cap with an uneasy hand, and walked some

paces without speaking.

"Will he come, your Holiness?"

"If he thinks I hold the secret on which his life depends, assuredly he

will come."

"But you are sovereign as well as Pope--is it possible for you to

receive him?"

"I will receive him as the King of Sardinia, the King of Italy, if you

will, but not as the King of Rome."

The Capuchin took his coloured handkerchief from his sleeve and rolled

it in his palms, which were hot and perspiring.

"But, Holy Father," he said, "what will be the good? Say that all

difficulties of etiquette can be removed, and you can meet as man to

man, as David Leone and Albert Charles--why will the King come? Only to

ask you to put pressure upon your informant to give more information."

The Pope drew himself up on the gravel path and smote his breast with

indignation. "Never! It would be an insult to the Church," he said. "It

is one thing to expect the Holy Father to do his duty as a Christian

even to his enemy, it is another thing to ask him to invade the sanctity

of a private confidence."

The Capuchin did not reply, and the two old men walked on in silence. As

the light softened the swallows increased their clamour, and song-birds

began to call from neighbouring trees. Suddenly a startled cry burst

from the foliage, and, turning quickly, the Pope lifted up the cat

which, as usual, was picking its way at his heels.

"Ah, Meesh, Meesh! I've got you safely this time.... It was the poor

mother-bird again, I suppose. Where is her nest, I wonder?"




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