t, my book, myself, what
matter they! I do not defend myself, I only seek your glory and the
happiness of mankind. Say that from the depths of this Vatican you have
heard the rending of our corrupt modern societies! Say that you have
quivered with loving pity, say that you desire to prevent the awful
impending catastrophe by recalling the Gospel to the hearts of your
children who are stricken with madness, and by bringing them back to the
age of simplicity and purity when the first Christians lived together in
innocent brotherhood! Yes, it is for that reason, is it not, that you
have placed yourself, Father, on the side of the poor, and for that
reason I am here and entreat you for pity and kindness and justice with
my whole soul!"

Then the young man gave way beneath his emotion, and fell all of a heap
upon the floor amidst a rush of sobs--loud, endless sobs, which flowed
forth in billows, coming as it were not only from himself but from all
the wretched, from the whole world in whose veins sorrow coursed mingled
with the very blood of life. He was there as the ambassador of suffering,
as he had said. And indeed, at the foot of that mute and motionless pope,
he was like the personification of the whole of human woe.

Leo XIII, who was extremely fond of talking and could only listen to
others with an effort, had twice raised one of his pallid hands to
interrupt the young priest. Then, gradually overcome by astonishment,
touched by emotion himself, he had allowed him to continue, to go on to
the end of his outburst. A little blood even had suffused the snowy
whiteness of the Pontiff's face whilst his eyes shone out yet more
brilliantly. And as soon as he saw the young man speechless at his feet,
shaken by those sobs which seemed to be wrenching away his heart, he
became anxious and leant forward: "Calm yourself, my son, raise
yourself," he said.

But the sobs still continued, still flowed forth, all reason and respect
being swept away amidst that distracted plaint of a wounded soul, that
moan of suffering, dying flesh.

"Raise yourself, my son, it is not proper," repeated Leo XIII. "There,
take that chair." And with a gesture of authority he at last invited the
young man to sit down.

Pierre rose with pain, and at once seated himself in order that he might
not fall. He brushed his hair back from his forehead, and wiped his
scalding tears away with his hands, unable to understand what had just
happened, but striving