to regain his self-possession.

"You appeal to the Holy Father," said Leo XIII. "Ah! rest assured that
his heart is full of pity and affection for those who are unfortunate.
But that is not the point, it is our holy religion which is in question.
I have read your book, a bad book, I tell you so at once, the most
dangerous and culpable of books, precisely on account of its qualities,
the pages in which I myself felt interested. Yes, I was often fascinated,
I should not have continued my perusal had I not felt carried away,
transported by the ardent breath of your faith and enthusiasm. The
subject 'New Rome' is such a beautiful one and impassions me so much! and
certainly there is a book to be written under that title, but in a very
different spirit to yours. You think that you have understood me, my son,
that you have so penetrated yourself with my writings and actions that
you simply express my most cherished ideas. But no, no, you have not
understood me, and that is why I desired to see you, explain things to
you, and convince you."

It was now Pierre who sat listening, mute and motionless. Yet he had only
come thither to defend himself; for three months past he had been
feverishly desiring this interview, preparing his arguments and feeling
confident of victory; and now although he heard his book spoken of as
dangerous and culpable he did not protest, did not reply with any one of
those good reasons which he had deemed so irresistible. But the fact was
that intense weariness had come upon him, the appeal that he had made,
the tears that he had shed had left him utterly exhausted. By and by,
however, he would be brave and would say what he had resolved to say.

"People do not understand me, do not understand me!" resumed Leo XIII
with an air of impatient irritation. "It is incredible what trouble I
have to make myself understood, in France especially! Take the temporal
power for instance; how can you have fancied that the Holy See would ever
enter into any compromise on that question? Such language is unworthy of
a priest, it is the chimerical dream of one who is ignorant of the
conditions in which the papacy has hitherto lived and in which it must
still live if it does not desire to disappear. Cannot you see the
sophistry of your argument that the Church becomes the loftier the more
it frees itself from the cares of terrestrial sovereignty? A purely
spiritual royalty, a sway of charity and love, indeed, 'tis a fine