o scourged himself with rods each morning on rising, and was content to
be the lowest of servants.

Standing there a heap of livid fat, Paparelli on his side watched Pierre
with his little grey eyes blinking amidst the myriad wrinkles of his
face. And the young priest began to feel uneasy, wondering what their
Eminences could be saying to one another, shut up together like that for
so long a time. And what an interview it must be if Boccanera suspected
Sanguinetti of counting Santobono among his clients. What serene audacity
it was on Sanguinetti's part to have dared to present himself in that
house, and what strength of soul there must be on Boccanera's part, what
empire over himself, to prevent all scandal by remaining silent and
accepting the visit as a simple mark of esteem and affection! What could
they be saying to one another, however? How interesting it would have
been to have seen them face to face, and have heard them exchange the
diplomatic phrases suited to such an interview, whilst their souls were
raging with furious hatred!

All at once the door opened and Cardinal Sanguinetti appeared with calm
face, no ruddier than usual, indeed a trifle paler, and retaining the
fitting measure of sorrow which he had thought it right to assume. His
restless eyes alone revealed his delight at being rid of a difficult
task. And he was going off, all hope, in the conviction that he was the
only eligible candidate to the papacy that remained.

Abbe Paparelli had darted forward: "If your Eminence will kindly follow
me--I will escort your Eminence to the door." Then, turning towards
Pierre, he added: "You may go in now."

Pierre watched them walk away, the one so humble behind the other, who
was so triumphant. Then he entered the little work-room, furnished simply
with a table and three chairs, and in the centre of it he at once
perceived Cardinal Boccanera still standing in the lofty, noble attitude
which he had assumed to take leave of Sanguinetti, his hated rival to the
pontifical throne. And, visibly, Boccanera also believed himself the only
possible pope, the one whom the coming Conclave would elect.

However, when the door had been closed, and the Cardinal beheld that
young priest, his guest, who had witnessed the death of those two dear
children lying in the adjoining room, he was again mastered by emotion,
an unexpected attack of weakness in which all his energy collapsed. His
human feelings were taking their reve