reaching the parterre, he raised his eyes.

Ah! how exquisite in spite of everything was that decline of a lovely
day, and what a victorious charm ascended from the soil in that part of
the gardens. There, in front of that bare, noble, burning parterre, far
more than under the languishing foliage of the wood or among the fruitful
vines, Pierre realised the strength of Nature. Above the grass growing
meagrely over the compartments of geometrical pattern which the pathways
traced there were barely a few low shrubs, dwarf roses, aloes, rare tufts
of withering flowers. Some green bushes still described the escutcheon of
Pius IX in accordance with the strange taste of former times. And amidst
the warm silence one only heard the faint crystalline murmur of the water
trickling from the basin of the central fountain. But all Rome, its
ardent heavens, sovereign grace, and conquering voluptuousness, seemed
with their own soul to animate this vast rectangular patch of decorative
gardening, this mosaic of verdure, which in its semi-abandonment and
scorched decay assumed an aspect of melancholy pride, instinct with the
ever returning quiver of a passion of fire that could not die. Some
antique vases and statues, whitely nude under the setting sun, skirted
the parterres. And above the aroma of eucalyptus and of pine, stronger
even than that of the ripening oranges, there rose the odour of the
large, bitter box-shrubs, so laden with pungent life that it disturbed
one as one passed as if indeed it were the very scent of the fecundity of
that ancient soil saturated with the dust of generations.

"It's very strange that we have not met his Holiness," exclaimed
Narcisse. "Perhaps his carriage took the other path through the wood
while we were in the tower."

Then, reverting to Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, the _attache_ explained
that the functions of _Copiere_, or papal cup-bearer, which his cousin
should have discharged as one of the four _Camerieri segreti
partecipanti_ had become purely honorary since the dinners offered to
diplomatists or in honour of newly consecrated bishops had been given by
the Cardinal Secretary of State. Monsignor Gamba, whose cowardice and
nullity were legendary, seemed therefore to have no other _role_ than
that of enlivening Leo XIII, whose favour he had won by his incessant
flattery and the anecdotes which he was ever relating about both the
black and the white worlds. Indeed this fat, amiable man, who could