her home or friends to welcome him. Many were met as they issued
forth, and clasped in the arms of loving relatives. Mothers and wives,
sisters and brothers were there; children sprang wildly to their
fathers' breasts, and words of love and blessing were heard on every
side.

'Who is that yonder: the poor, sickly youth, that creeps along by
himself, with his head down?' whispered a happy girl at her brother's
side.

'That is the "Maitre Fou!"' said he carelessly; 'I think he scarcely
knows whither he is going.'

CHAPTER IX. THE PERE MASSONI IN HIS CELL

Let us now return to Rome. The Pere Massoni sat alone in his small
study; a single lamp, covered with a shade, stood beside him, throwing
its light only on his thin, attenuated figure, dressed in the long robe
of black serge, and buttoned to the very feet. One wasted, blue-veined
hand rested on his knee, the other was in the breast of his robe. It was
a wild and stormy night without: long, swooping dashes of rain came from
time to time against the windows, with blasts of strong wind borne
over the wide expanse of the Campagna. The blue lightning, too, flashed
through the half-darkened room, while the thunder rolled unceasingly
amid the stupendous ruins of old Rome. For a long time had the Pere sat
thus motionless, and to all seeming, in expectancy. Some books and an
open map lay on the table beside him, but he never turned to them, but
remained in this selfsame attitude; only changing when he bent his head
to listen more attentively to the noises without. At length he arose,
and passing into a small octagonal tower that opened from the corner of
his chamber, closed the door behind him. For a second or two he stood
in perfect darkness, but suddenly a wide flash of lightning lit up the
whole air, displaying the bleak Campagna for miles and miles, while it
depicted every detail of the little tower around him. Taking advantage
of the light, he advanced and opened the windows, carefully fastening
them to the walls as he did so. He now seated himself by the open
casement, gathering his robe well about him, and drawing the hood over
his face. The storm increased as the night went on. Many an ancient
pillar rocked to its base; many a stern old ruin shook, as in distinct
blasts, like the report of cannon, the wind hurled all its force upon
them. In the same fitful gusts the rain dashed down, seething across the
wide plain, where it hissed with a sound like a breaking se