be the fathers, not the seducers
of their subjects. A sovereign may be a man of good intentions, but if
he is weak, and allows himself to fall into the hands of despotic
Ministers, he is a worse affliction than the cruellest tyrant. Think
well, your Majesty! A throne may be a quagmire, and a man may be buried
in it, and buried alive."

The young King began to falter some incoherent words, but without
listening the Pope rose to end the audience.

"You promise me," said the Pope, "that if--I say _if_--in order to avoid
bloodshed and to prevent a crime, I obtain from this lady the
identification of her husband as the person condemned for the former
conspiracy, you will spare and pardon him whatever happens?"

"Holy Father, I give you my solemn word for it."

"Then leave me! Let me think!... Wait! If she consents, where must she
go to?"

"To the Procura by the Ponte Ripetta, and, as time presses, at ten
o'clock on Saturday morning," said the Baron.

"Leave me! Leave me!"

The King knelt again and kissed the Pope's hand, but the Baron only
bowed as he passed out behind his sovereign.

The opening of the doors let in a wave of sound that was like the roll
of a great wind in a cave. Tenebrae had been going on for some time in
the Basilica, and the people were singing the Miserere.

"Did you hear him, Father?" said the Pope. "Isn't it almost enough to
justify a man like Rossi that he has to meet a despot like that?"

"We'll talk of it to-morrow," said the Capuchin.

The friar touched a bell, and the _palfrenieri_ returned with the
chair.

XIV

Next day, being Good Friday, was passed by the Pope in religious
retreat, which was interrupted by indispensable business only. After
Mass of the Presanctified he sat in his study with his confessor, while
his chaplain in black passed through on tiptoe from the private chapel,
and his chamberlains, tired out by the ceremonies of yesterday, dozed on
their stools in the outer hall.

The day was bright but the room was darkened, and the hearts of the two
old men were heavy. Over the face of the Pope there was a cloud of
trouble, and the countenance of the Capuchin was solemn to the point of
sternness. The friar sat in the old-fashioned easy-chair with his bare
feet showing from under the edge of his brown habit; the Pope lay on the
lounge with both hands in the vertical pockets of his white woollen
cassock.

"Your Holiness is not well th