it was ten o'clock when pierre and narcisse, after dining at the caffe di roma, where they had long lingered chatting, at last walked down the corso towards the palazzo buongiovanni. they had the greatest difficulty to reach its entrance, for carriages were coming up in serried files, and the inquisitive crowd of on-lookers, who pressed even into the roadway, in spite of the injunctions of the police, was growing so compact that even the horses could no longer approach. the ten lofty windows on the first floor of the long monumental facade shone with an intense white radiance, the radiance of electric lamps, which illumined the street like sunshine, spreading over the equipages aground in that human sea, whose billows of eager, excited faces rolled to and fro amidst an extraordinary tumult.

and in all this there was not merely the usual curiosity to see uniforms go by and ladies in rich attire alight from their carriages, for pierre soon gathered from what he heard that the crowd had come to witness the arrival of the king and queen, who had promised to appear at the ball given by prince buongiovanni, in celebration of the betrothal of his daughter celia to lieutenant attilio sacco, the son of one of his majesty's ministers. moreover, people were enraptured with this marriage, the happy ending of a love story which had impassioned the whole city: to begin with, love at first sight, with the suddenness of a lightning-flash, and then stubborn fidelity triumphing over all obstacles, amidst romantic circumstances whose story sped from lip to lip, moistening every eye and stirring every heart.

it was this story that narcisse had related at dessert to pierre, who already knew some portion of it. people asserted that if the prince had ended by yielding after a final terrible scene, it was only from fear of seeing celia elope from the palace with her lover. she did not threaten to do so, but, amidst her virginal calmness, there was so much contempt for everything foreign to her love, that her father felt her to be capable of acting with the greatest folly in all ingenuousness. only indifference was manifested by the prince's wife, a phlegmatic and still beautiful englishwoman, who considered that she had done quite enough for the household by bringing her husband a dowry of five millions, and bearing him five children. the prince, anxious and weak despite his violence, in which one found a trace of the old roman blood, already spoilt by mixture with that of a foreign race, was nowadays ever influenced in his actions by the fear that his house and fortune--which hitherto had remained intact amidst the accumulated ruins of the /patriziato/--might suddenly collapse. and in finally yielding to celia, he must have been guided by the idea of rallying to the new /regime/ through his daughter, so as to have one foot firmly set at the quirinal, without withdrawing the other from the vatican. it was galling, no doubt; his pride must have bled at the idea of allying his name with that of such low folks as the saccos. but then sacco was a minister, and had sped so quickly from success to success that it seemed likely he would rise yet higher, and, after the portfolio of agriculture, secure that of finances, which he had long coveted. and an alliance with sacco meant the certain favour of the king, an assured retreat in that direction should the papacy some day collapse. then, too, the prince had made inquiries respecting the son, and was somewhat disarmed by the good looks, bravery, and rectitude of young attilio, who represented the future, and possibly the glorious italy of to-morrow. he was a soldier, and could be helped forward to the highest rank. and people spitefully added that the last reason which had influenced the prince, who was very avaricious, and greatly worried by the thought that his fortune must be divided among his five children,* was that an opportunity presented itself for him to bestow a ridiculously small dowry on celia. however, having consented to the marriage, he resolved to give a splendid /fete/, such as was now seldom witnessed in rome, throwing his doors open to all the rival sections of society, inviting the sovereigns, and setting the palazzo ablaze as in the grand days of old. in doing this he would necessarily have to expend some of the money to which he clung, but a boastful spirit incited him to show the world that he at any rate had not been vanquished by the financial crisis, and that the buongiovannis had nothing to hide and nothing to blush for. to tell the truth, some people asserted that this bravado had not originated with himself, but had been instilled into him without his knowledge by the quiet and innocent celia, who wished to exhibit her happiness to all applauding rome.

* the italian succession law is similar to the french. children cannot be disinherited. all property is divided among them, and thus the piling up of large hereditary fortunes is prevented.--trans.

"dear me!" said narcisse, whom the throng prevented from advancing. "we shall never get in. why, they seem to have invited the whole city." and then, as pierre seemed surprised to see a prelate drive up in his carriage, the /attache/ added: "oh! you will elbow more than one of them upstairs. the cardinals won't like to come on account of the presence of the king and queen, but the prelates are sure to be here. this, you know, is a neutral drawing-room where the black and the white worlds can fraternise. and then too, there are so few /fetes/ that people rush on them."

he went on to explain that there were two grand balls at court every winter, but that it was only under exceptional circumstances that the /patriziato/ gave similar /galas/. two or three of the black /salons/ were opened once in a way towards the close of the carnival, but little dances among intimates replaced the pompous entertainments of former times. some princesses moreover merely had their day. and as for the few white /salons/ that existed, these likewise retained the same character of intimacy, more or less mixed, for no lady had yet become the undisputed queen of the new society.

"well, here we are at last," resumed narcisse as they eventually climbed the stairs.

"let us keep together," pierre somewhat anxiously replied. "my only acquaintance is with the /fiancee/, and i want you to introduce me."

however, a considerable effort was needed even to climb the monumental staircase, so great was the crush of arriving guests. never, in the old days of wax candles and oil lamps, had this staircase offered such a blaze of light. electric lamps, burning in clusters in superb bronze candelabra on the landings, steeped everything in a white radiance. the cold stucco of the walls was hidden by a series of lofty tapestries depicting the story of cupid and psyche, marvels which had remained in the family since the days of the renascence. and a thick carpet covered the worn marble steps, whilst clumps of evergreens and tall spreading palms decorated every corner. an affluence of new blood warmed the antique mansion that evening; there was a resurrection of life, so to say, as the women surged up the staircase, smiling and perfumed, bare-shouldered, and sparkling with diamonds.

at the entrance of the first reception-room pierre at once perceived prince and princess buongiovanni, standing side by side and receiving their guests. the prince, a tall, slim man with fair complexion and hair turning grey, had the pale northern eyes of his american mother in an energetic face such as became a former captain of the popes. the princess, with small, delicate, and rounded features, looked barely thirty, though she had really passed her fortieth year. and still pretty, displaying a smiling serenity which nothing could disconcert, she purely and simply basked in self-adoration. her gown was of pink satin, and a marvellous parure of large rubies set flamelets about her dainty neck and in her fine, fair hair. of her five children, her son, the eldest, was travelling, and three of the girls, mere children, were still at school, so that only celia was present, celia in a modest gown of white muslin, fair like her mother, quite bewitching with her large innocent eyes and her candid lips, and retaining to the very end of her love story the semblance of a closed lily of impenetrable, virginal mysteriousness. the saccos had but just arrived, and attilio, in his simple lieutenant's uniform, had remained near his betrothed, so naively and openly delighted with his great happiness that his handsome face, with its caressing mouth and brave eyes, was quite resplendent with youth and strength. standing there, near one another, in the triumph of their passion they appeared like life's very joy and health, like the personification of hope in the morrow's promises; and the entering guests who saw them could not refrain from smiling and feeling moved, momentarily forgetting their loquacious and malicious curiosity to give their hearts to those chosen ones of love who looked so handsome and so enraptured.

narcisse stepped forward in order to present pierre, but celia anticipated him. going to meet the young priest she led him to her father and mother, saying: "monsieur l'abbe pierre froment, a friend of my dear benedetta." ceremonious salutations followed. then the young girl, whose graciousness greatly touched pierre, said to him: "benedetta is coming with her aunt and dario. she must be very happy this evening! and you will also see how beautiful she will be."

pierre and narcisse next began to congratulate her, but they could not remain there, the throng was ever jostling them; and the prince and princess, quite lost in the crush, had barely time to answer the many salutations with amiable, continuous nods. and celia, after conducting the two friends to attilio, was obliged to return to her parents so as to take her place beside them as the little queen of the /fete/.

narcisse was already slightly acquainted with attilio, and so fresh congratulations ensued. then the two friends manoeuvred to find a spot where they might momentarily tarry and contemplate the spectacle which this first /salon/ presented. it was a vast hall, hung with green velvet broidered with golden flowers, and contained a very remarkable collection of weapons and armour, breast-plates, battle-axes, and swords, almost all of which had belonged to the buongiovannis of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. and amidst those stern implements of war there was a lovely sedan-chair of the last century, gilded and decorated with delicate paintings. it was in this chair that the prince's great-grandmother, the celebrated bettina, whose beauty was historical, had usually been carried to mass. on the walls, moreover, there were numerous historical paintings: battles, peace congresses, and royal receptions in which the buongiovannis had taken part, without counting the many family portraits, tall and proud figures of sea-captains, commanders in the field, great dignitaries of the church, prelates and cardinals, amongst whom, in the place of honour, appeared the family pope, the white-robed buongiovanni whose accession to the pontifical throne had enriched a long line of descendants. and it was among those armours, near that coquettish sedan, and below those antique portraits, that the saccos, husband and wife, had in their turn just halted, at a few steps from the master and mistress of the house, in order to secure their share of congratulations and bows.

"look over there!" narcisse whispered to pierre, "those are the saccos in front of us, that dark little fellow and the lady in mauve silk."

pierre promptly recognised the bright face and pleasant smile of stefana, whom he had already met at old orlando's. but he was more interested in her husband, a dark dry man, with big eyes, sallow complexion, prominent chin, and vulturine nose. like some gay neapolitan "pulcinello," he was dancing, shouting, and displaying such infectious good humour that it spread to all around him. he possessed a wonderful gift of speech, with a voice that was unrivalled as an instrument of fascination and conquest; and on seeing how easily he ingratiated himself with the people in that drawing-room, one could understand his lightning-like successes in the political world. he had manoeuvered with rare skill in the matter of his son's marriage, affecting such exaggerated delicacy of feeling as to set himself against the lovers, and declare that he would never consent to their union, as he had no desire to be accused of stealing a dowry and a title. as a matter of fact, he had only yielded after the buongiovannis had given their consent, and even then he had desired to take the opinion of old orlando, whose lofty integrity was proverbial. however, he knew right well that he would secure the old hero's approval in this particular affair, for orlando made no secret of his opinion that the buongiovannis ought to be glad to admit his grand-nephew into their family, as that handsome young fellow, with brave and healthy heart, would help to regenerate their impoverished blood. and throughout the whole affair, sacco had shrewdly availed himself of orlando's famous name, for ever talking of the relationship between them, and displaying filial veneration for this glorious founder of the country, as if indeed he had no suspicion that the latter despised and execrated him and mourned his accession to power in the conviction that he would lead italy to shame and ruin.

"ah!" resumed narcisse addressing pierre, "he's one of those supple, practical men who care nothing for a smack in the face. it seems that unscrupulous individuals like himself become necessary when states get into trouble and have to pass through political, financial, and moral crises. it is said that sacco with his imperturbable assurance and ingenious and resourceful mind has quite won the king's favour. just look at him! why, with that crowd of courtiers round him, one might think him the master of this palace!"

and indeed the guests, after passing the prince and princess with a bow, at once congregated around sacco, for he represented power, emoluments, pensions, and crosses; and if folks still smiled at seeing his dark, turbulent, and scraggy figure amidst that framework of family portraits which proclaimed the mighty ancestry of the buongiovannis, they none the less worshipped him as the personification of the new power, the democratic force which was confusedly rising even from the old roman soil where the /patriziato/ lay in ruins.

"what a crowd!" muttered pierre. "who are all these people?"

"oh!" replied narcisse, "it is a regular mixture. these people belong neither to the black nor the white world; they form a grey world as it were. the evolution was certain; a man like cardinal boccanera may retain an uncompromising attitude, but a whole city, a nation can't. the pope alone will always say no and remain immutable. but everything around him progresses and undergoes transformation, so that in spite of all resistance, rome will become italian in a few years' time. even now, whenever a prince has two sons only one of them remains on the side of the vatican, the other goes over to the quirinal. people must live, you see; and the great families threatened with annihilation have not sufficient heroism to carry obstinacy to the point of suicide. and i have already told you that we are here on neutral ground, for prince buongiovanni was one of the first to realise the necessity of conciliation. he feels that his fortune is perishing, he does not care to risk it either in industry or in speculation, and already sees it portioned out among his five children, by whose descendants it will be yet further divided; and this is why he prudently makes advances to the king without, however, breaking with the pope. in this /salon/, therefore, you see a perfect picture of the /debacle/, the confusion which reigns in the prince's ideas and opinions." narcisse paused, and then began to name some of the persons who were coming in. "there's a general," said he, "who has become very popular since his last campaign in africa. there will be a great many military men here this evening, for all attilio's superiors have been invited, so as to give the young man an /entourage/ of glory. ah! and there's the german ambassador. i fancy that nearly all the corps diplomatique will come on account of their majesties' presence. but, by way of contrast, just look at that stout fellow yonder. he's a very influential deputy, a /parvenu/ of the new middle class. thirty years ago he was merely one of prince albertini's farmers, one of those /mercanti di campagna/ who go about the environs of rome in stout boots and a soft felt hat. and now look at that prelate coming in--"

"oh! i know him," pierre interrupted. "he's monsignor fornaro."

"exactly, monsignor fornaro, a personage of some importance. you told me, i remember, that he is the reporter of the congregation in that affair of your book. a most delightful man! did you see how he bowed to the princess? and what a noble and graceful bearing he has in his little mantle of violet silk!"

then narcisse went on enumerating the princes and princesses, the dukes and duchesses, the politicians and functionaries, the diplomatists and ministers, and the officers and well-to-do middle-class people, who of themselves made up a most wonderful medley of guests, to say nothing of the representatives of the various foreign colonies, english people, americans, germans, spaniards, and russians, in a word, all ancient europe, and both americas. and afterwards the young man reverted to the saccos, to the little signora sacco in particular, in order to tell pierre of the heroic efforts which she had made to open a /salon/ for the purpose of assisting her husband's ambition. gentle and modest as she seemed, she was also very shrewd, endowed with genuine qualities, piedmontese patience and strength of resistance, orderly habits and thriftiness. and thus it was she who re-established the equilibrium in household affairs which her husband by his exuberance so often disturbed. he was indeed greatly indebted to her, though nobody suspected it. at the same time, however, she had so far failed in her attempts to establish a white /salon/ which should take the lead in influencing opinion. only the people of her own set visited her, not a single prince ever came, and her monday dances were the same as in a score of other middle-class homes, having no brilliancy and no importance. in fact, the real white /salon/, which should guide men and things and sway all rome was still in dreamland.

"just notice her keen smile as she examines everything here," resumed narcisse. "she's teaching herself and forming plans, i'm sure of it. now that she is about to be connected with a princely family she probably hopes to receive some of the best society."

large as was the room, the crowd in it had by this time grown so dense that the two friends were pressed back to a wall, and felt almost stifled. the /attache/ therefore decided to lead the priest elsewhere, and as they walked along he gave him some particulars concerning the palace, which was one of the most sumptuous in rome, and renowned for the magnificence of its reception-rooms. dancing took place in the picture gallery, a superb apartment more than sixty feet long, with eight windows overlooking the corso; while the buffet was installed in the hall of the antiques, a marble hall, which among other precious things contained a statue of venus, rivalling the one at the capitol. then there was a suite of marvellous /salons/, still resplendent with ancient luxury, hung with the rarest stuffs, and retaining some unique specimens of old-time furniture, on which covetous antiquaries kept their eyes fixed, whilst waiting and hoping for the inevitable future ruin. and one of these apartments, the little saloon of the mirrors, was particularly famous. of circular shape and louis xv style, it was surrounded by mirrors in /rococo/ frames, extremely rich, and most exquisitely carved.

"you will see all that by and by," continued narcisse. "at present we had better go in here if we want to breathe a little. it is here that the arm-chairs from the adjacent gallery have been brought for the accommodation of the ladies who desire to sit down and be seen and admired."

the apartment they entered was a spacious one, draped with the most superb genoese velvet, that antique /jardiniere/ velvet with pale satin ground, and flowers once of dazzling brightness, whose greens and blues and reds had now become exquisitely soft, with the subdued, faded tones of old floral love-tokens. on the pier tables and in the cabinets all around were some of the most precious curios in the palace, ivory caskets, gilt and painted wood carvings, pieces of antique plate--briefly, a collection of marvels. and several ladies, fleeing the crush, had already taken refuge on the numerous seats, clustering in little groups, and laughing and chatting with the few gentlemen who had discovered this retreat of grace and /galanterie/. in the bright glow of the lamps nothing could be more delightful than the sight of all those bare, sheeny shoulders, and those supple necks, above whose napes were coiled tresses of fair or raven hair. bare arms emerged like living flowers of flesh from amidst the mingling lace and silk of soft-hued bodices. the fans played slowly, as if to heighten the fires of the precious stones, and at each beat wafted around an /odore di femina/ blended with a predominating perfume of violets.

"hallo!" exclaimed narcisse, "there's our good friend monsignor nani bowing to the austrian ambassadress."

as soon as nani perceived the young priest and his companion he came towards them, and the trio then withdrew into the embrasure of a window in order that they might chat for a moment at their ease. the prelate was smiling like one enchanted with the beauty of the /fete/, but at the same time he retained all the serenity of innocence, as if he had not even noticed the exhibition of bare shoulders by which he was surrounded. "ah, my dear son!" he said to pierre, "i am very pleased to see you! well, and what do you think of our rome when she makes up her mind to give /fetes/?"

"why, it is superb, monseigneur."

then, in an emotional manner, nani spoke of celia's lofty piety; and, in order to give the vatican the credit of this sumptuous /gala/, affected to regard the prince and princess as staunch adherents of the church, as if he were altogether unaware that the king and queen were presently coming. and afterwards he abruptly exclaimed: "i have been thinking of you all day, my dear son. yes, i heard that you had gone to see his eminence cardinal sanguinetti. well, and how did he receive you?"

"oh! in a most paternal manner," pierre replied. "at first he made me understand the embarrassment in which he was placed by his position as protector of lourdes; but just as i was going off he showed himself charming, and promised me his help with a delicacy which deeply touched me."

"did he indeed, my dear son? but it doesn't surprise me, his eminence is so good-hearted!"

"and i must add, monseigneur, that i came back with a light and hopeful heart. it now seems to me as if my suit were half gained."

"naturally, i understand it," replied nani, who was still smiling with that keen, intelligent smile of his, sharpened by a touch of almost imperceptible irony. and after a short pause he added in a very simple way: "the misfortune is that on the day before yesterday your book was condemned by the congregation of the index, which was convoked by its secretary expressly for that purpose. and the judgment will be laid before his holiness, for him to sign it, on the day after to-morrow."

pierre looked at the prelate in bewilderment. had the old mansion fallen on his head he would not have felt more overcome. what! was it all over? his journey to rome, the experiment he had come to attempt there, had resulted in that defeat, of which he was thus suddenly apprised amidst that betrothal /fete/. and he had not even been able to defend himself, he had sacrificed his time without finding any one to whom he might speak, before whom he might plead his cause! anger was rising within him, and he could not prevent himself from muttering bitterly: "ah! how i have been duped! and that cardinal who said to me only this morning: 'if god be with you he will save you in spite of everything.' yes, yes, i now understand him; he was juggling with words, he only desired a disaster in order that submission might lead me to heaven! submit, indeed, ah! i cannot, i cannot yet! my heart is too full of indignation and grief."

nani examined and studied him with curiosity. "but my dear son," he said, "nothing is final so long as the holy father has not signed the judgment. you have all to-morrow and even the morning of the day after before you. a miracle is always possible." then, lowering his voice and drawing pierre on one side whilst narcisse in an aesthetical spirit examined the ladies, he added: "listen, i have a communication to make to you in great secrecy. come and join me in the little saloon of the mirrors by and by, during the cotillon. we shall be able to talk there at our ease."

pierre nodded, and thereupon the prelate discreetly withdrew and disappeared in the crowd. however, the young man's ears were buzzing; he could no longer hope; what indeed could he accomplish in one day since he had lost three months without even being able to secure an audience with the pope? and his bewilderment increased as he suddenly heard narcisse speaking to him of art. "it's astonishing how the feminine figure has deteriorated in these dreadful democratic days. it's all fat and horribly common. not one of those women yonder shows the florentine contour, with small bosom and slender, elegant neck. ah! that one yonder isn't so bad perhaps, the fair one with her hair coiled up, whom monsignor fornaro has just approached."

for a few minutes indeed monsignor fornaro had been fluttering from beauty to beauty, with an amiable air of conquest. he looked superb that evening with his lofty decorative figure, blooming cheeks, and victorious affability. no unpleasant scandal was associated with his name; he was simply regarded as a prelate of gallant ways who took pleasure in the society of ladies. and he paused and chatted, and leant over their bare shoulders with laughing eyes and humid lips as if experiencing a sort of devout rapture. however, on perceiving narcisse whom he occasionally met, he at once came forward and the /attache/ had to bow to him. "you have been in good health i hope, monseigneur, since i had the honour of seeing you at the embassy."

"oh! yes, i am very well, very well indeed. what a delightful /fete/, is it not?"

pierre also had bowed. this was the man whose report had brought about the condemnation of his book; and it was with resentment that he recalled his caressing air and charming greeting, instinct with such lying promise. however, the prelate, who was very shrewd, must have guessed that the young priest was already acquainted with the decision of the congregation, and have thought it more dignified to abstain from open recognition; for on his side he merely nodded and smiled at him. "what a number of people!" he went on, "and how many charming persons there are! it will soon be impossible for one to move in this room."

all the seats in fact were now occupied by ladies, and what with the strong perfume of violets and the exhalations of warm necks and shoulders the atmosphere was becoming most oppressive. the fans flapped more briskly, and clear laughter rang out amidst a growing hubbub of conversation in which the same words constantly recurred. some news, doubtless, had just arrived, some rumour was being whispered from group to group, throwing them all into feverish excitement. as it happened, monsignor fornaro, who was always well informed, desired to be the proclaimer of this news, which nobody as yet had ventured to announce aloud.

"do you know what is exciting them all?" he inquired.

"is it the holy father's illness?" asked pierre in his anxiety. "is he worse this evening?"

the prelate looked at him in astonishment, and then somewhat impatiently replied: "oh, no, no. his holiness is much better, thank heaven. a person belonging to the vatican was telling me just now that he was able to get up this afternoon and receive his intimates as usual."

"all the same, people have been alarmed," interrupted narcisse. "i must confess that we did not feel easy at the embassy, for a conclave at the present time would be a great worry for france. she would exercise no influence at it. it is a great mistake on the part of our republican government to treat the holy see as of no importance! however, can one ever tell whether the pope is ill or not? i know for a certainty that he was nearly carried off last winter when nobody breathed a word about any illness, whereas on the last occasion when the newspapers killed him and talked about a dreadful attack of bronchitis, i myself saw him quite strong and in the best of spirits! his reported illnesses are mere matters of policy, i fancy."*

* there is much truth in this; but the reader must not imagine that the pope is never ill. at his great age, indispositions are only natural.--trans.

with a hasty gesture, however, monsignor fornaro brushed this importunate subject aside. "no, no," said he, "people are tranquillised and no longer talk of it. what excites all those ladies is that the congregation of the council to-day voted the dissolution of the prada marriage by a great majority."

again did pierre feel moved. however, not having had time to see any members of the boccanera family on his return from frascati he feared that the news might be false and said so. thereupon the prelate gave his word of honour that things were as he stated. "the news is certain," he declared. "i had it from a member of the congregation." and then, all at once, he apologised and hurried off: "excuse me but i see a lady whom i had not yet caught sight of, and desire to pay my respects to her."

he at once hastened to the lady in question, and, being unable to sit down, inclined his lofty figure as if to envelop her with his gallant courtesy; whilst she, young, fresh, and bare-shouldered, laughed with a pearly laugh as his cape of violet silk lightly brushed her sheeny skin.

"you know that person, don't you?" narcisse inquired of pierre. "no! really? why, that is count prada's /inamorata/, the charming lisbeth kauffmann, by whom he has just had a son. it's her first appearance in society since that event. she's a german, you know, and lost her husband here. she paints a little; in fact, rather nicely. a great deal is forgiven to the ladies of the foreign colony, and this one is particularly popular on account of the very affable manner in which she receives people at her little palazzo in the via principe amedeo. as you may imagine, the news of the dissolution of that marriage must amuse her!"

she looked really exquisite, that lisbeth, very fair, rosy, and gay, with satiny skin, soft blue eyes, and lips wreathed in an amiable smile, which was renowned for its grace. and that evening, in her gown of white silk spangled with gold, she showed herself so delighted with life, so securely happy in the thought that she was free, that she loved and was loved in return, that the whispered tidings, the malicious remarks exchanged behind the fans of those around her, seemed to turn to her personal triumph. for a moment all eyes had sought her, and people talked of the outcome of her connection with prada, the man whose manhood the church solemnly denied by its decision of that very day! and there came stifled laughter and whispered jests, whilst she, radiant in her insolent serenity, accepted with a rapturous air the gallantry of monsignor fornaro, who congratulated her on a painting of the virgin with the lily, which she had lately sent to a fine-art show.

ah! that matrimonial nullity suit, which for a year had supplied rome with scandal, what a final hubbub it occasioned as the tidings of its termination burst forth amidst that ball! the black and white worlds had long chosen it as a battlefield for the exchange of incredible slander, endless gossip, the most nonsensical tittle-tattle. and now it was over; the vatican with imperturbable impudence had pronounced the marriage null and void on the ground that the husband was no man, and all rome would laugh over the affair, with that free scepticism which it displayed as soon as the pecuniary affairs of the church came into question. the incidents of the struggle were already common property: prada's feelings revolting to such a point that he had withdrawn from the contest, the boccaneras moving heaven and earth in their feverish anxiety, the money which they had distributed among the creatures of the various cardinals in order to gain their influence, and the large sum which they had indirectly paid for the second and favourable report of monsignor palma. people said that, altogether, more than a hundred thousand francs had been expended, but this was not thought over-much, as a well-known french countess had been obliged to disburse nearly ten times that amount to secure the dissolution of her marriage. but then the holy father's need was so great! and, moreover, nobody was angered by this venality; it merely gave rise to malicious witticisms; and the fans continued waving in the increasing heat, and the ladies quivered with contentment as the whispered pleasantries took wing and fluttered over their bare shoulders.

"oh! how pleased the contessina must be!" pierre resumed. "i did not understand what her little friend, princess celia, meant by saying when we came in that she would be so happy and beautiful this evening. it is doubtless on that account that she is coming here, after cloistering herself all the time the affair lasted, as if she were in mourning."

however, lisbeth's eyes had chanced to meet those of narcisse, and as she smiled at him he was, in his turn, obliged to pay his respects to her, for, like everybody else of the foreign colony, he knew her through having visited her studio. he was again returning to pierre when a fresh outburst of emotion stirred the diamond aigrettes and the flowers adorning the ladies' hair. people turned to see what was the matter, and again did the hubbub increase. "ah! it's count prada in person!" murmured narcisse, with an admiring glance. "he has a fine bearing, whatever folks may say. dress him up in velvet and gold, and what a splendid, unscrupulous, fifteenth-century adventurer he would make!"

prada entered the room, looking quite gay, in fact, almost triumphant. and above his large, white shirtfront, edged by the black of his coat, he really had a commanding, predacious expression, with his frank, stern eyes, and his energetic features barred by a large black moustache. never had a more rapturous smile of sensuality revealed the wolfish teeth of his voracious mouth. with rapid glances he took stock of the women, dived into their very souls. then, on seeing lisbeth, who looked so pink, and fair, and girlish, his expression softened, and he frankly went up to her, without troubling in the slightest degree about the ardent, inquisitive eyes which were turned upon him. as soon as monsignor fornaro had made room, he stooped and conversed with the young woman in a low tone. and she no doubt confirmed the news which was circulating, for as he again drew himself erect, he laughed a somewhat forced laugh, and made an involuntary gesture.

however, he then caught sight of pierre, and joined him in the embrasure of the window; and when he had also shaken hands with narcisse, he said to the young priest with all his wonted /bravura/: "you recollect what i told you as we were coming back from frascati? well, it's done, it seems, they've annulled my marriage. it's such an impudent, such an imbecile decision, that i still doubted it a moment ago!"

"oh! the news is certain," pierre made bold to reply. "it has just been confirmed to us by monsignor fornaro, who had it from a member of the congregation. and it is said that the majority was very large."

prada again shook with laughter. "no, no," said he, "such a farce is beyond belief! it's the finest smack given to justice and common-sense that i know of. ah! if the marriage can also be annulled by the civil courts, and if my friend whom you see yonder be only willing, we shall amuse ourselves in rome! yes, indeed, i'd marry her at santa maria maggiore with all possible pomp. and there's a dear little being in the world who would take part in the /fete/ in his nurse's arms!"

he laughed too loud as he spoke, alluded in too brutal a fashion to his child, that living proof of his manhood. was it suffering that made his lips curve upwards and reveal his white teeth? it could be divined that he was quivering, fighting against an awakening of covert, tumultuous passion, which he would not acknowledge even to himself.

"and you, my dear abbe?" he hastily resumed. "do you know the other report? do you know that the countess is coming here?" it was thus, by force of habit, that he designated benedetta, forgetting that she was no longer his wife.

"yes, i have just been told so," pierre replied; and then he hesitated for a moment before adding, with a desire to prevent any disagreeable surprise: "and we shall no doubt see prince dario also, for he has not started for naples as i told you. something prevented his departure at the last moment, i believe. at least so i gathered from a servant."

prada no longer laughed. his face suddenly became grave, and he contented himself with murmuring: "ah! so the cousin is to be of the party. well, we shall see them, we shall see them both!"

then, whilst the two friends went on chatting, he became silent, as if serious considerations impelled him to reflect. and suddenly making a gesture of apology he withdrew yet farther into the embrasure in which he stood, pulled a note-book out of his pocket, and tore from it a leaf on which, without modifying his handwriting otherwise than by slightly enlarging it, he pencilled these four lines: "a legend avers that the fig tree of judas now grows at frascati, and that its fruit is deadly for him who may desire to become pope. eat not the poisoned figs, nor give them either to your servants or your fowls." then he folded the paper, fastened it with a postage stamp, and wrote on it the address: "to his most reverend and most illustrious eminence, cardinal boccanera." and when he had placed everything in his pocket again, he drew a long breath and once more called back his laugh.

a kind of invincible discomfort, a far-away terror had momentarily frozen him. without being guided by any clear train of reasoning, he had felt the need of protecting himself against any cowardly temptation, any possible abomination. he could not have told what course of ideas had induced him to write those four lines without a moment's delay, on the very spot where he stood, under penalty of contributing to a great catastrophe. but one thought was firmly fixed in his brain, that on leaving the ball he would go to the via giulia and throw that note into the letter-box at the palazzo boccanera. and that decided, he was once more easy in mind.

"why, what is the matter with you, my dear abbe?" he inquired on again joining in the conversation of the two friends. "you are quite gloomy." and on pierre telling him of the bad news which he had received, the condemnation of his book, and the single day which remained to him for action if he did not wish his journey to rome to result in defeat, he began to protest as if he himself needed agitation and diversion in order to continue hopeful and bear the ills of life. "never mind, never mind, don't worry yourself," said he, "one loses all one's strength by worrying. a day is a great deal, one can do ever so many things in a day. an hour, a minute suffices for destiny to intervene and turn defeat into victory!" he grew feverish as he spoke, and all at once added, "come, let's go to the ball-room. it seems that the scene there is something prodigious."

then he exchanged a last loving glance with lisbeth whilst pierre and narcisse followed him, the three of them extricating themselves from their corner with the greatest difficulty, and then wending their way towards the adjoining gallery through a sea of serried skirts, a billowy expanse of necks and shoulders whence ascended the passion which makes life, the odour alike of love and of death.

with its eight windows overlooking the corso, their panes uncurtained and throwing a blaze of light upon the houses across the road, the picture gallery, sixty-five feet in length and more than thirty in breadth, spread out with incomparable splendour. the illumination was dazzling. clusters of electric lamps had changed seven pairs of huge marble candelabra into gigantic /torcheres/, akin to constellations; and all along the cornice up above, other lamps set in bright-hued floral glasses formed a marvellous garland of flaming flowers: tulips, paeonies, and roses. the antique red velvet worked with gold, which draped the walls, glowed like a furnace fire. about the doors and windows there were hangings of old lace broidered with flowers in coloured silk whose hues had the very intensity of life. but the sight of sights beneath the sumptuous panelled ceiling adorned with golden roses, the unique spectacle of a richness not to be equalled, was the collection of masterpieces such as no museum could excel. there were works of raffaelle and titian, rembrandt and rubens, velasquez and ribera, famous works which in this unexpected illumination suddenly showed forth, triumphant with youth regained, as if awakened to the immortal life of genius. and, as their majesties would not arrive before midnight, the ball had just been opened, and flights of soft-hued gowns were whirling in a waltz past all the pompous throng, the glittering jewels and decorations, the gold-broidered uniforms and the pearl-broidered robes, whilst silk and satin and velvet spread and overflowed upon every side.

"it is prodigious, really!" declared prada with his excited air; "let us go this way and place ourselves in a window recess again. there is no better spot for getting a good view without being too much jostled."

they lost narcisse somehow or other, and on reaching the desired recess found themselves but two, pierre and the count. the orchestra, installed on a little platform at the far end of the gallery, had just finished the waltz, and the dancers, with an air of giddy rapture, were slowly walking through the crowd when a fresh arrival caused every head to turn. donna serafina, arrayed in a robe of purple silk as if she had worn the colours of her brother the cardinal, was making a royal entry on the arm of consistorial-advocate morano. and never before had she laced herself so tightly, never had her waist looked so slim and girlish; and never had her stern, wrinkled face, which her white hair scarcely softened, expressed such stubborn and victorious domination. a discreet murmur of approval ran round, a murmur of public relief as it were, for all roman society had condemned the unworthy conduct of morano in severing a connection of thirty years to which the drawing-rooms had grown as accustomed as if it had been a legal marriage. the rupture had lasted for two months, to the great scandal of rome where the cult of long and faithful affections still abides. and so the reconciliation touched every heart and was regarded as one of the happiest consequences of the victory which the boccaneras had that day gained in the affair of benedetta's marriage. morano repentant and donna serafina reappearing on his arm, nothing could have been more satisfactory; love had conquered, decorum was preserved and good order re-established.

but there was a deeper sensation as soon as benedetta and dario were seen to enter, side by side, behind the others. this tranquil indifference for the ordinary forms of propriety, on the very day when the marriage with prada had been annulled, this victory of love, confessed and celebrated before one and all, seemed so charming in its audacity, so full of the bravery of youth and hope, that the pair were at once forgiven amidst a murmur of universal admiration. and as in the case of celia and attilio, all hearts flew to them, to their radiant beauty, to the wondrous happiness that made their faces so resplendent. dario, still pale after his long convalescence, somewhat slight and delicate of build, with the fine clear eyes of a big child, and the dark curly beard of a young god, bore himself with a light pride, in which all the old princely blood of the boccaneras could be traced. and benedetta, she so white under her casque of jetty hair, she so calm and so sensible, wore her lovely smile, that smile so seldom seen on her face but which was irresistibly fascinating, transfiguring her, imparting the charm of a flower to her somewhat full mouth, and filling the infinite of her dark and fathomless eyes with a radiance as of heaven. and in this gay return of youth and happiness, an exquisite instinct had prompted her to put on a white gown, a plain girlish gown which symbolised her maidenhood, which told that she had remained through all a pure untarnished lily for the husband of her choice. and nothing of her form was to be seen, not a glimpse of bosom or shoulder. it was as if the impenetrable, redoubtable mystery of love, the sovereign beauty of woman slumbered there, all powerful, but veiled with white. again, not a jewel appeared on her fingers or in her ears. there was simply a necklace falling about her /corsage/, but a necklace fit for royalty, the famous pearl necklace of the boccaneras, which she had inherited from her mother, and which was known to all rome--pearls of fabulous size cast negligently about her neck, and sufficing, simply as she was gowned, to make her queen of all.

"oh!" murmured pierre in ecstasy, "how happy and how beautiful she is!"

but he at once regretted that he had expressed his thoughts aloud, for beside him he heard a low plaint, an involuntary growl which reminded him of the count's presence. however, prada promptly stifled this cry of returning anguish, and found strength enough to affect a brutish gaiety: "the devil!" said he, "they have plenty of impudence. i hope we shall see them married and bedded at once!" then regretting this coarse jest which had been prompted by the revolt of passion, he sought to appear indifferent: "she looks very nice this evening," he said; "she has the finest shoulders in the world, you know, and its a real success for her to hide them and yet appear more beautiful than ever."

he went on speaking, contriving to assume an easy tone, and giving various little particulars about the countess as he still obstinately called the young woman. however, he had drawn rather further into the recess, for fear, no doubt, that people might remark his pallor, and the painful twitch which contracted his mouth. he was in no state to fight, to show himself gay and insolent in presence of the joy which the lovers so openly and naively expressed. and he was glad of the respite which the arrival of the king and queen at this moment offered him. "ah! here are their majesties!" he exclaimed, turning towards the window. "look at the scramble in the street!"

although the windows were closed, a tumult could be heard rising from the footways. and pierre on looking down saw, by the light of the electric lamps, a sea of human heads pour over the road and encompass the carriages. he had several times already seen the king during the latter's daily drives to the grounds of the villa borghese, whither he came like any private gentleman--unguarded, unescorted, with merely an aide-de-camp accompanying him in his victoria. at other times he drove a light phaeton with only a footman in black livery to attend him. and on one occasion pierre had seen him with the queen, the pair of them seated side by side like worthy middle-class folks driving abroad for pleasure. and, as the royal couple went by, the busy people in the streets and the promenaders in the public gardens contented themselves with wafting them an affectionate wave of the hand, the most expansive simply approaching to smile at them, and no one importuning them with acclamations. pierre, who harboured the traditional idea of kings closely guarded and passing processionally with all the accompaniment of military pomp, was therefore greatly surprised and touched by the amiable /bonhomie/ of this royal pair, who went wherever they listed in full security amidst the smiling affection of their people. everybody, moreover, had told him of the king's kindliness and simplicity, his desire for peace, and his passion for sport, solitude, and the open air, which, amidst the worries of power, must often have made him dream of a life of freedom far from the imperious duties of royalty for which he seemed unfitted.* but the queen was yet more tenderly loved. so naturally and serenely virtuous that she alone remained ignorant of the scandals of rome, she was also a woman of great culture and great refinement, conversant with every field of literature, and very happy in being so intelligent, so superior to those around her--a pre-eminence which she realised and which she was fond of showing, but in the most natural and most graceful of ways.

* king humbert inherited these tastes from his father victor emanuel, who was likewise a great sportsman and had a perfect horror of court life, pageantry, and the exigencies of politics.--trans.

like pierre, prada had remained with his face to the window, and suddenly pointing to the crowd he said: "now that they have seen the queen they will go to bed well pleased. and there isn't a single police agent there, i'm sure. ah! to be loved, to be loved!" plainly enough his distress of spirit was coming back, and so, turning towards the gallery again, he tried to play the jester. "attention, my dear abbe, we mustn't miss their majesties' entry. that will be the finest part of the /fete/!"

a few minutes went by, and then, in the very midst of a polka, the orchestra suddenly ceased playing. but a moment afterwards, with all the blare of its brass instruments, it struck up the royal march. the dancers fled in confusion, the centre of the gallery was cleared, and the king and queen entered, escorted by the prince and princess buongiovanni, who had received them at the foot of the staircase. the king was in ordinary evening dress, while the queen wore a robe of straw-coloured satin, covered with superb white lace; and under the diadem of brilliants which encircled her beautiful fair hair, she looked still young, with a fresh and rounded face, whose expression was all amiability, gentleness, and wit. the music was still sounding with the enthusiastic violence of welcome. behind her father and mother, celia appeared amidst the press of people who were following to see the sight; and then came attilio, the saccos, and various relatives and official personages. and, pending the termination of the royal march, only salutations, glances, and smiles were exchanged amidst the sonorous music and dazzling light; whilst all the guests crowded around on tip-toe, with outstretched necks and glittering eyes--a rising tide of heads and shoulders, flashing with the fires of precious stones.

at last the march ended and the presentations began. their majesties were already acquainted with celia, and congratulated her with quite affectionate kindliness. however, sacco, both as minister and father, was particularly desirous of presenting his son attilio. he bent his supple spine, and summoned to his lips the fine words which were appropriate, in such wise that he contrived to make the young man bow to the king in the capacity of a lieutenant in his majesty's army, whilst his homage as a handsome young man, so passionately loved by his betrothed was reserved for queen margherita. again did their majesties show themselves very gracious, even towards the signora sacco who, ever modest and prudent, had remained in the background. and then occurred an incident that was destined to give rise to endless gossip. catching sight of benedetta, whom count prada had presented to her after his marriage, the queen, who greatly admired her beauty and charm of manner, addressed her a smile in such wise that the young woman was compelled to approach. a conversation of some minutes' duration ensued, and the contessina was favoured with some extremely amiable expressions which were perfectly audible to all around. most certainly the queen was ignorant of the event of the day, the dissolution of benedetta's marriage with prada, and her coming union with dario so publicly announced at this /gala/, which now seemed to have been given to celebrate a double betrothal. nevertheless that conversation caused a deep impression; the guests talked of nothing but the compliments which benedetta had received from the most virtuous and intelligent of queens, and her triumph was increased by it all, she became yet more beautiful and more victorious amidst the happiness she felt at being at last able to bestow herself on the spouse of her choice, that happiness which made her look so radiant.

but, on the other hand, the torture which prada experienced now became intense. whilst the sovereigns continued conversing, the queen with the ladies who came to pay her their respects, the king with the officers, diplomatists, and other important personages who approached him, prada saw none but benedetta--benedetta congratulated, caressed, exalted by affection and glory. dario was near her, flushing with pleasure, radiant like herself. it was for them that this ball had been given, for them that the lamps shone out, for them that the music played, for them that the most beautiful women of rome had bared their bosoms and adorned them with precious stones. it was for them that their majesties had entered to the strains of the royal march, for them that the /fete/ was becoming like an apotheosis, for them that a fondly loved queen was smiling, appearing at that betrothal /gala/ like the good fairy of the nursery tales, whose coming betokens life-long happiness. and for prada, this wondrously brilliant hour when good fortune and joyfulness attained their apogee, was one of defeat. it was fraught with the victory of that woman who had refused to be his wife in aught but name, and of that man who now was about to take her from him: such a public, ostentatious, insulting victory that it struck him like a buffet in the face. and not merely did his pride and passion bleed for that: he felt that the triumph of the saccos dealt a blow to his fortune. was it true, then, that the rough conquerors of the north were bound to deteriorate in the delightful climate of rome, was that the reason why he already experienced such a sensation of weariness and exhaustion? that very morning at frascati in connection with that disastrous building enterprise he had realised that his millions were menaced, albeit he refused to admit that things were going badly with him, as some people rumoured. and now, that evening, amidst that /fete/ he beheld the south victorious, sacco winning the day like one who feeds at his ease on the warm prey so gluttonously pounced upon under the flaming sun.

and the thought of sacco being a minister, an intimate of the king, allying himself by marriage to one of the noblest families of the roman aristocracy, and already laying hands on the people and the national funds with the prospect of some day becoming the master of rome and italy--that thought again was a blow for the vanity of this man of prey, for the ever voracious appetite of this enjoyer, who felt as if he were being pushed away from table before the feast was over! all crumbled and escaped him, sacco stole his millions, and benedetta tortured his flesh, stirring up that awful wound of unsatisfied passion which never would be healed.

again did pierre hear that dull plaint, that involuntary despairing growl, which had upset him once before. and he looked at the count, and asked him: "are you suffering?" but on seeing how livid was the face of prada, who only retained his calmness by a superhuman effort, he regretted his indiscreet question, which, moreover, remained unanswered. and then to put the other more at ease, the young priest went on speaking, venting the thoughts which the sight before him inspired: "your father was right," said he, "we frenchmen whose education is so full of the catholic spirit, even in these days of universal doubt, we never think of rome otherwise than as the old rome of the popes. we scarcely know, we can scarcely understand the great changes which, year by year, have brought about the italian rome of the present day. why, when i arrived here, the king and his government and the young nation working to make a great capital for itself, seemed to me of no account whatever! yes, i dismissed all that, thought nothing of it, in my dream of resuscitating a christian and evangelical rome, which should assure the happiness of the world."

he laughed as he spoke, pitying his own artlessness, and then pointed towards the gallery where prince buongiovanni was bowing to the king whilst the princess listened to the gallant remarks of sacco: a scene full of symbolism, the old papal aristocracy struck down, the /parvenus/ accepted, the black and white worlds so mixed together that one and all were little else than subjects, on the eve of forming but one united nation. that conciliation between the quirinal and the vatican which in principle was regarded as impossible, was it not in practice fatal, in face of the evolution which went on day by day? people must go on living, loving, and creating life throughout the ages. and the marriage of attilio and celia would be the symbol of the needful union: youth and love triumphing over ancient hatred, all quarrels forgotten as a handsome lad goes by, wins a lovely girl, and carries her off in his arms in order that the world may last.

"look at them!" resumed pierre, "how handsome and young and gay both the /fiances/ are, all confidence in the future. ah! i well understand that your king should have come here to please his minister and win one of the old roman families over to his throne; it is good, brave, and fatherly policy. but i like to think that he has also realised the touching significance of that marriage--old rome, in the person of that candid, loving child giving herself to young italy, that upright, enthusiastic young man who wears his uniform so jauntily. and may their nuptials be definitive and fruitful; from them and from all the others may there arise the great nation which, now that i begin to know you, i trust you will soon become!"

amidst the tottering of his former dream of an evangelical and universal rome, pierre expressed these good wishes for the eternal city's future fortune with such keen and deep emotion that prada could not help replying: "i thank you; that wish of yours is in the heart of every good italian."

but his voice quavered, for even whilst he was looking at celia and attilio, who stood smiling and talking together, he saw benedetta and dario approach them, wearing the same joyful expression of perfect happiness. and when the two couples were united, so radiant and so triumphant, so full of superb and happy life, he no longer had strength to stay there, see them, and suffer.

"i am frightfully thirsty," he hoarsely exclaimed. "let's go to the buffet to drink something." and, thereupon, in order to avoid notice, he so manoeuvred as to glide behind the throng, skirting the windows in the direction of the entrance to the hall of the antiques, which was beyond the gallery.

whilst pierre was following him they were parted by an eddy of the crowd, and the young priest found himself carried towards the two loving couples who still stood chatting together. and celia, on recognising him, beckoned to him in a friendly way. with her passionate cult for beauty, she was enraptured with the appearance of benedetta, before whom she joined her little lily hands as before the image of the madonna. "oh! monsieur l'abbe," said she, "to please me now, do tell her how beautiful she is, more beautiful than anything on earth, more beautiful than even the sun, and the moon and stars. if you only knew, my dear, it makes me quiver to see you so beautiful as that, as beautiful as happiness, as beautiful as love itself!"

benedetta began to laugh, while the two young men made merry. "but you are as beautiful as i am, darling," said the contessina. "and if we are beautiful it is because we are happy."

"yes, yes, happy," celia gently responded. "do you remember the evening when you told me that one didn't succeed in marrying the pope and the king? but attilio and i are marrying them, and yet we are very happy."

"but we don't marry them, dario and i! on the contrary!" said benedetta gaily. "no matter; as you answered me that same evening, it is sufficient that we should love one another, love saves the world."

when pierre at last succeeded in reaching the door of the hall of the antiques, where the buffet was installed, he found prada there, motionless, gazing despite himself on the galling spectacle which he desired to flee. a power stronger than his will had kept him there, forcing him to turn round and look, and look again. and thus, with a bleeding heart, he still lingered and witnessed the resumption of the dancing, the first figure of a quadrille which the orchestra began to play with a lively flourish of its brass instruments. benedetta and dario, celia and attilio were /vis-à-vis/. and so charming and delightful was the sight which the two couples presented dancing in the white blaze, all youth and joy, that the king and queen drew near to them and became interested. and soon bravos of admiration rang out, while from every heart spread a feeling of infinite tenderness.

"i'm dying of thirst, let's go!" repeated prada, at last managing to wrench himself away from the torturing sight.

he called for some iced lemonade and drank the glassful at one draught, gulping it down with the greedy eagerness of a man stricken with fever, who will never more be able to quench the burning fire within him.

the hall of the antiques was a spacious room with mosaic pavement, and decorations of stucco; and a famous collection of vases, bas-reliefs, and statues, was disposed along its walls. the marbles predominated, but there were a few bronzes, and among them a dying gladiator of extreme beauty. the marvel however was the famous statue of venus, a companion to that of the capitol, but with a more elegant and supple figure and with the left arm falling loosely in a gesture of voluptuous surrender. that evening a powerful electric reflector threw a dazzling light upon the statue, which, in its divine and pure nudity, seemed to be endowed with superhuman, immortal life. against the end-wall was the buffet, a long table covered with an embroidered cloth and laden with fruit, pastry, and cold meats. sheaves of flowers rose up amidst bottles of champagne, hot punch, and iced /sorbetto/, and here and there were marshalled armies of glasses, tea-cups, and broth-bowls, a perfect wealth of sparkling crystal, porcelain, and silver. and a happy innovation had been to fill half of the hall with rows of little tables, at which the guests, in lieu of being obliged to refresh themselves standing, were able to sit down and order what they desired as in a cafe.

at one of these little tables, pierre perceived narcisse seated near a young woman, whom prada, on approaching, recognised to be lisbeth. "you find me, you see, in delightful company," gallantly exclaimed the /attache/. "as we lost one another, i could think of nothing better than of offering madame my arm to bring her here."

"it was, in fact, a good idea," said lisbeth with her pretty laugh, "for i was feeling very thirsty."

they had ordered some iced coffee, which they were slowly sipping out of little silver-gilt spoons.

"i have a terrible thirst, too," declared the count, "and i can't quench it. you will allow us to join you, will you not, my dear sir? some of that coffee will perhaps calm me." and then to lisbeth he added, "ah! my dear, allow me to introduce to you monsieur l'abbe froment, a young french priest of great distinction."

then for a long time they all four remained seated at that table, chatting and making merry over certain of the guests who went by. prada, however, in spite of his usual gallantry towards lisbeth, frequently became absent-minded; at times he quite forgot her, being again mastered by his anguish, and, in spite of all his efforts, his eyes ever turned towards the neighbouring gallery whence the sound of music and dancing reached him.

"why, what are you thinking of, /caro mio/?" lisbeth asked in her pretty way, on seeing him at one moment so pale and lost. "are you indisposed?"

he did not reply, however, but suddenly exclaimed, "ah! look there, that's the real pair, there's real love and happiness for you!"

with a jerk of the hand he designated dario's mother, the marchioness montefiori and her second husband, jules laporte--that ex-sergeant of the papal swiss guard, her junior by fifteen years, whom she had one day hooked at the corso with her eyes of fire, which yet had remained superb, and whom she had afterwards triumphantly transformed into a marquis montefiori in order to have him entirely to herself. such was her passion that she never relaxed her hold on him whether at ball or reception, but, despite all usages, kept him beside her, and even made him escort her to the buffet, so much did she delight in being able to exhibit him and say that this handsome man was her own exclusive property. and standing there side by side, the pair of them began to drink champagne and eat sandwiches, she yet a marvel of massive beauty although she was over fifty, and he with long wavy moustaches, and proud bearing, like a fortunate adventurer whose jovial impudence pleased the ladies.

"you know that she had to extricate him from a nasty affair," resumed the count in a lower tone. "yes, he travelled in relics; he picked up a living by supplying relics on commission to convents in france and switzerland; and he had launched quite a business in false relics with the help of some jews here who concocted little ancient reliquaries out of mutton bones, with everything sealed and signed by the most genuine authorities. the affair was hushed up, as three prelates were also compromised in it! ah! the happy man! do you see how she devours him with her eyes? and he, doesn't he look quite a /grand seigneur/ by the mere way in which he holds that plate for her whilst she eats the breast of a fowl out of it!"

then, in a rough way and with biting irony, he went on to speak of the /amours/ of rome. the roman women, said he, were ignorant, obstinate, and jealous. when a woman had managed to win a man, she kept him for ever, he became her property, and she disposed of him as she pleased. by way of proof, he cited many interminable /liaisons/, such as that of donna serafina and morano which, in time became virtual marriages; and he sneered at such a lack of fancy, such an excess of fidelity whose only ending, when it did end, was some very disagreeable unpleasantness.

at this, lisbeth interrupted him. "but what is the matter with you this evening, my dear?" she asked with a laugh. "what you speak of is on the contrary very nice and pretty! when a man and a woman love one another they ought to do so for ever!"

she looked delightful as she spoke, with her fine wavy blonde hair and delicate fair complexion; and narcisse with a languorous expression in his half-closed eyes compared her to a botticelli which he had seen at florence. however, the night was now far advanced, and pierre had once more sunk into gloomy thoughtfulness when he heard a passing lady remark that they had already begun to dance the cotillon in the gallery; and thereupon he suddenly remembered that monsignor nani had given him an appointment in the little saloon of the mirrors.

"are you leaving?" hastily inquired prada on seeing him rise and bow to lisbeth.

"no, no, not yet," pierre answered.

"oh! all right. don't go away without me. i want to walk a little, and i'll see you home. it's agreed, eh? you will find me here."

the young priest had to cross two rooms, one hung with yellow and the other with blue, before he at last reached the mirrored /salon/. this was really an exquisite example of the /rococo/ style, a rotunda as it were of pale mirrors framed with superb gilded carvings. even the ceiling was covered with mirrors disposed slantwise so that on every side things multiplied, mingled, and appeared under all possible aspects. discreetly enough no electric lights had been placed in the room, the only illumination being that of some pink tapers burning in a pair of candelabra. the hangings and upholstery were of soft blue silk, and the impression on entering was very sweet and charming, as if one had found oneself in the abode of some fairy queen of the rills, a palace of limpid water, illumined to its farthest depths by clusters of stars.

pierre at once perceived monsignor nani, who was sitting on a low couch, and, as the prelate had hoped, he was quite alone, for the cotillon had attracted almost everybody to the picture gallery. and the silence in the little /salon/ was nearly perfect, for at that distance the blare of the orchestra subsided into a faint, flute-like murmur. the young priest at once apologised to the prelate for having kept him waiting.

"no, no, my dear son," said nani, with his inexhaustible amiability. "i was very comfortable in this retreat--when the press of the crowd became over-threatening i took refuge here." he did not speak of the king and queen, but he allowed it to be understood that he had politely avoided their company. if he had come to the /fete/ it was on account of his sincere affection for celia and also with a very delicate diplomatic object, for the church wished to avoid any appearance of having entirely broken with the buongiovanni family, that ancient house which was so famous in the annals of the papacy. doubtless the vatican was unable to subscribe to this marriage which seemed to unite old rome with the young kingdom of italy, but on the other hand it did not desire people to think that it abandoned old and faithful supporters and took no interest in what befell them.

"but come, my dear son," the prelate resumed, "it is you who are now in question. i told you that although the congregation of the index had pronounced itself for the condemnation of your book, the sentence would only be submitted to the holy father and signed by him on the day after to-morrow. so you still have a whole day before you."

at this pierre could not refrain from a dolorous and vivacious interruption.

"alas! monseigneur, what can i do?" said he; "i have thought it all over, and i see no means, no opportunity of defending myself. how could i even see his holiness now that he is so ill?"

"oh! ill, ill!" muttered nani with his shrewd expression. "his holiness is ever so much better, for this very day, like every other wednesday, i had the honour to be received by him. when his holiness is a little tired and people say that he is very ill, he often lets them do so, for it gives him a rest and enables him to judge certain ambitions and manifestations of impatience around him."

pierre, however, was too upset to listen attentively. "no, it's all over," he continued, "i'm in despair. you spoke to me of the possibility of a miracle, but i am no great believer in miracles. since i am defeated here at rome, i shall go away, i shall return to paris, and continue the struggle there. oh! i cannot resign myself, my hope in salvation by the practice of love cannot die, and i shall answer my denouncers in a new book, in which i shall tell in what new soil the new religion will grow up!"

silence fell. nani looked at him with his clear eyes in which intelligence shone distinct and sharp like steel. and amidst the deep calm, the warm heavy atmosphere of the little /salon/, whose mirrors were starred with countless reflections of candles, a more sonorous burst of music was suddenly wafted from the gallery, a rhythmical waltz melody, which slowly expanded, then died away.

"my dear son," said nani, "anger is always harmful. you remember that on your arrival here i promised that if your own efforts to obtain an interview with the holy father should prove unavailing, i would myself endeavour to secure an audience for you." then, seeing how agitated the young priest was getting, he went on: "listen to me and don't excite yourself. his holiness, unfortunately, is not always prudently advised. around him are persons whose devotion, however great, is at times deficient in intelligence. i told you that, and warned you against inconsiderate applications. and this is why, already three weeks ago, i myself handed your book to his holiness in the hope that he would deign to glance at it. i rightly suspected that it had not been allowed to reach him. and this is what i am instructed to tell you: his holiness, who has had the great kindness to read your book, expressly desires to see you."

a cry of joy and gratitude died away in pierre's throat: "ah! monseigneur. ah! monseigneur!"

but nani quickly silenced him and glanced around with an expression of keen anxiety as if he feared that some one might hear them. "hush! hush!" said he, "it is a secret. his holiness wishes to see you privately, without taking anybody else into his confidence. listen attentively. it is now two o'clock in the morning. well, this very day, at nine in the evening precisely, you must present yourself at the vatican and at every door ask for signor squadra. you will invariably be allowed to pass. signor squadra will be waiting for you upstairs, and will introduce you. and not a word, mind; not a soul must have the faintest suspicion of these things."

pierre's happiness and gratitude at last flowed forth. he had caught hold of the prelate's soft, plump hands, and stammered, "ah! monseigneur, how can i express my gratitude to you? if you only knew how full my soul was of night and rebellion since i realised that i had been a mere plaything in the hands of those powerful cardinals. but you have saved me, and again i feel sure that i shall win the victory, for i shall at last be able to fling myself at the feet of his holiness the father of all truth and all justice. he can but absolve me, i who love him, i who admire him, i who have never battled for aught but his own policy and most cherished ideas. no, no, it is impossible; he will not sign that judgment; he will not condemn my book!"

releasing his hands, nani sought to calm him with a fatherly gesture, whilst retaining a faint smile of contempt for such a useless expenditure of enthusiasm. at last he succeeded, and begged him to retire. the orchestra was again playing more loudly in the distance. and when the young priest at last withdrew, thanking him once more, he said very simply, "remember, my dear son, that only obedience is great."

pierre, whose one desire now was to take himself off, found prada almost immediately afterwards in the first reception-room. their majesties had just left the ball in grand ceremony, escorted to the threshold by the buongiovannis and the saccos. and before departing the queen had maternally kissed celia, whilst the king shook hands with attilio--honours instinct with a charming good nature which made the members of both families quite radiant. however, a good many of the guests were following the example of the sovereigns and disappearing in small batches. and the count, who seemed strangely nervous, and showed more sternness and bitterness than ever, was, on his side, also eager to be gone. "ah! it's you at last. i was waiting for you," he said to pierre. "well, let's get off at once, eh? your compatriot monsieur narcisse habert asked me to tell you not to look for him. the fact is, he has gone to see my friend lisbeth to her carriage. i myself want a breath of fresh air, a stroll, and so i'll go with you as far as the via giulia."

then, as they took their things from the cloak-room, he could not help sneering and saying in his brutal way: "i saw your good friends go off, all four together. it's lucky that you prefer to go home on foot, for there was no room for you in the carriage. what superb impudence it was on the part of that donna serafina to drag herself here, at her age, with that morano of hers, so as to triumph over the return of the fickle one! and the two others, the two young ones--ah! i confess that i can hardly speak calmly of /them/, for in parading here together as they did this evening, they have shown an impudence and a cruelty such as is rarely seen!" prada's hands trembled, and he murmured: "a good journey, a good journey to the young man, since he is going to naples. yes, i heard celia say that he was starting for naples this evening at six o'clock. well, my wishes go with him; a good journey!"

the two men found the change delightful when they at last emerged from the stifling heat of the reception-rooms into the lovely, cool, and limpid night. it was a night illumined by a superb full moon, one of those matchless roman nights when the city slumbers in elysian radiance, steeped in a dream of the infinite, under the vast vault of heaven. and they took the most agreeable route, going down the corso proper and then turning into the corso vittorio emanuele.

prada had grown somewhat calmer, but remained full of irony. to divert his mind, no doubt, he talked on in the most voluble manner, reverting to the women of rome and to that /fete/ which he had at first found splendid, but at which he now began to rail.

"oh! of course they have very fine gowns," said he, speaking of the women; "but gowns which don't fit them, gowns which are sent them from paris, and which, of course, they can't try on. it's just the same with their jewels; they still have diamonds and pearls, in particular, which are very fine, but they are so wretchedly, so heavily mounted that they look frightful. and if you only knew how ignorant and frivolous these women are, despite all their conceit! everything is on the surface with them, even religion: there's nothing beneath. i looked at them eating at the buffet. oh! they at least have fine appetites. this evening some decorum was observed, there wasn't too much gorging. but at one of the court balls you would see a general pillage, the buffets besieged, and everything swallowed up amidst a scramble of amazing voracity!"

to all this talk pierre only returned monosyllabic responses. he was wrapped in overflowing delight at the thought of that audience with the pope, which, unable as he was to confide in any one, he strove to arrange and picture in his own mind, even in its pettiest details. and meantime the footsteps of the two men rang out on the dry pavement of the clear, broad, deserted thoroughfare, whose black shadows were sharply outlined by the moonlight.

all at once prada himself became silent. his loquacious /bravura/ was exhausted, the frightful struggle going on in his mind wholly possessed and paralysed him. twice already he had dipped his hand into his coat pocket and felt the pencilled note whose four lines he mentally repeated: "a legend avers that the fig-tree of judas now grows at frascati, and that its fruit is deadly for him who may desire to become pope. eat not the poisoned figs, nor give them either to your servants or your fowls." the note was there; he could feel it; and if he had desired to accompany pierre, it was in order that he might drop it into the letter-box at the palazzo boccanera. and he continued to step out briskly, so that within another ten minutes that note would surely be in the box, for no power in the world could prevent it, since such was his express determination. never would he commit such a crime as to allow people to be poisoned.

but he was suffering such abominable torture. that benedetta and that dario had raised such a tempest of jealous hatred within him! for them he forgot lisbeth whom he loved, and even that flesh of his flesh, the child of whom he was so proud. all sex as he was, eager to conquer and subdue, he had never cared for facile loves. his passion was to overcome. and now there was a woman in the world who defied him, a woman forsooth whom he had bought, whom he had married, who had been handed over to him, but who would never, never be his. ah! in the old days, to subdue her, he would if needful have fired rome like a nero; but now he asked himself what he could possibly do to prevent her from belonging to another. that galling thought made the blood gush from his gaping wound. how that woman and her lover must deride him! and to think that they had sought to turn him to ridicule by a baseless charge, an arrant lie which still and ever made him smart, all proof of its falsity to the contrary. he, on his side, had accused them in the past without much belief in what he said, but now the charges he had imputed to them must come true, for they were free, freed at all events of the religious bond, and that no doubt was their only care. and then visions of their happiness passed before his eyes, infuriating him. ah! no, ah! no, it was impossible, he would rather destroy the world!

then, as he and pierre turned out of the corso vittorio emanuele to thread the old narrow tortuous streets leading to the via giulia, he pictured himself dropping the note into the letter-box at the palazzo. and next he conjured up what would follow. the note would lie in the letter-box till morning. at an early hour don vigilio, the secretary, who by the cardinal's express orders kept the key of the box, would come down, find the note, and hand it to his eminence, who never allowed another to open any communication addressed to him. and then the figs would be thrown away, there would be no further possibility of crime, the black world would in all prudence keep silent. but if the note should not be in the letter-box, what would happen then? and admitting that supposition he pictured the figs placed on the table at the one o'clock meal, in their pretty little leaf-covered basket. dario would be there as usual, alone with his uncle, since he was not to leave for naples till the evening. and would both the uncle and the nephew eat the figs, or would only one of them partake of the fruit, and which of them would that be? at this point prada's clearness of vision failed him; again he conjured up destiny on the march, that destiny which he had met on the road from frascati, going on towards its unknown goal, athwart all obstacles without possibility of stoppage. aye, the little basket of figs went ever on and on to accomplish its fateful purpose, which no hand in the world had power enough to prevent.

and at last, on either hand of pierre and prada, the via giulia stretched away in a long line white with moonlight, and the priest emerged as if from a dream at sight of the palazzo boccanera rising blackly under the silver sky. three o'clock struck at a neighbouring church. and he felt himself quivering slightly as once again he heard near him the dolorous moan of a lion wounded unto death, that low involuntary growl which the count, amidst the frightful struggle of his feelings, had for the third time allowed to escape him. but immediately afterwards he burst into a sneering laugh, and pressing the priest's hands, exclaimed: "no, no, i am not going farther. if i were seen here at this hour, people would think that i had fallen in love with my wife again."

and thereupon he lighted a cigar, and retraced his steps in the clear night, without once looking round.