is time Pierre could not help feeling surprised at Narcisse's language,
for he remembered his incisive voice and clear, precise, financial acumen
when speaking of money matters. And, at this recollection, the young
priest's mind reverted to the castle fields, and intense sadness filled
his heart as for the last time all the want and suffering rose before
him. Again he beheld the horrible filth which was tainting so many human
beings, that shocking proof of the abominable social injustice which
condemns the greater number to lead the joyless, breadless lives of
accursed beasts. And as his glance returned yet once more to the window
of the Vatican, and he fancied he could see a pale hand uplifted behind
the glass panes, he thought of that papal benediction which Leo XIII gave
from that height, over Rome, and over the plain and the hills, to the
faithful of all Christendom. And that papal benediction suddenly seemed
to him a mockery, destitute of all power, since throughout such a
multitude of centuries it had not once been able to stay a single one of
the sufferings of mankind, and could not even bring a little justice for
those poor wretches who were agonising yonder beneath the very window.

IX.

THAT evening at dusk, as Benedetta had sent Pierre word that she desired
to see him, he went down to her little _salon_, and there found her
chatting with Celia.

"I've seen your Pierina, you know," exclaimed the latter, just as the
young priest came in. "And with Dario, too. Or rather, she must have been
watching for him; he found her waiting in a path on the Pincio and smiled
at her. I understood at once. What a beauty she is!"

Benedetta smiled at her friend's enthusiasm; but her lips twitched
somewhat painfully, for, however sensible she might be, this passion,
which she realised to be so naive and so strong, was beginning to make
her suffer. She certainly made allowances for Dario, but the girl was too
much in love with him, and she feared the consequences. Even in turning
the conversation she allowed the secret of her heart to escape her. "Pray
sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, "we are talking scandal, you see.
My poor Dario is accused of making love to every pretty woman in Rome.
People say that it's he who gives La Tonietta those white roses which she
has been exhibiting at the Corso every afternoon for a fortnight past."

"That's certain, my dear," retorted Celia impetuously. "At first people
were in doub