The Pope dropped the crucifix which was trembling in his hand, and half

rose from his chair. "Then ... even then ... it would have ... but the

will of God be done," he said, and he could not utter another word.

At that moment the Easter bells began to ring. The deep-toned bells of

St. Peter's came first with its joyful peal, and then the bells of the

other churches of the city took up the rapturous melody. In the Basilica

the veil before the altar had been rent with a loud crash, and the

Gloria in Excelsis was being sung.

At the same moment a prelate vested in a white tunic entered the Pope's

room, and kneeling in the middle of the floor, he said, "Holy Father, I

announce to you a great joy. Hallelujah! The Lord is risen again."

The Pope tried to rise from his seat, but could not do so. "Help me,

Monsignor," he said faintly, and the prelate raised him to his feet.

Then leaning on the prelate's arm, he walked to the door of his private

chapel. On reaching it he looked back at Father Pifferi, who was going

silently out of the room.

"Addio, carissimo," he said, in a pitiful voice, but the Capuchin could

not reply.

Some moments afterwards the Pope was quite alone. The arched windows of

the little chapel were covered with heavy red curtains, but the clanging

of the brass tongues in the cupola, the deep throb of the organ, and the

rolling waves of the voices of the people singing the grand Hallelujah,

found their way into the darkened chamber. But above all other sounds in

the ears of the Pope as he lay prostrate on the altar steps was the

sound of a voice which said, "You, the Vicar of Jesus Christ; you, the

rock on which the Saviour built His Church; you, the living voice of

God; you, the infallible one; you, who fill the most exalted dignity on

earth--remember you are but clay."

XXI

"Acqua Acetosa!" "Roba Vecchia!" "Rannocchie!"

The street cries were ringing through the Navona, the piazza was alive

with people, and strangers were saluting each other as they passed on

the pavement when Roma returned home. At the lodge the Garibaldian

wished her a good Easter, and at the door of the apartment the curate of

the parish, who in cotta and biretta was making his Easter call to

sprinkle the rooms with holy water, gave her a smile and his blessing,

while old Francesca, inside the house, laying the Easter sideboard of

cakes, sausages, and eggs, put both hands behind her back, like a child

playing a game, and cried-"Now, what does the Signora think I've got for her?"




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