n of the present warrant. Age, 34 years. Height, 1.79
metres. Forehead, lofty. Eyes, large and dark. Nose, Roman. Hair, black
with short curls. Beard and moustache, clean shaven. _Corporatura_,
distinguished."

When the secretary had finished his _precis_ he read it aloud to Roma
and his superior.

"Good! Give the lady the pen. You will sign this paper, Donna Roma--and
that will do."

Roma and Father Pifferi had both risen. "Courage," the Capuchin tried to
say, but his quivering lips emitted no sound. Roma stood a moment with
the pen in her fingers, and her great eyes looked slowly round the room.
Then she stooped and wrote her name rapidly.

At the same moment the Procurator General signed the warrant, whereupon
the Chief of Police handed it to the Carabineer, saying, "Lose no
time--Chiasso," and the soldier went out hurriedly.

Roma held the pen a moment longer, and then it dropped out of her
fingers.

"Come," said the Capuchin, and they left the room.

There was a crowd on the embankment by the corner of the Ripetta bridge.
The body of a beggar had been brought out of the river, and it was lying
there for the formal inspection of the officials who report on cases of
sudden death. Roma stopped to look at the dead man. It was Old John. He
had committed suicide.

XX

It was said at the Vatican that the Pope had not slept all night. The
attendant whose duty it was to lie awake while the Holy Father expected
to sleep said he heard him praying in the dark hours, and at one moment
he heard him singing a hymn.

To the Pope it had been a night of searching self-examination. Pictures
of his life had passed before him in swift review, pulsing and throbbing
out of the darkness like the light of a firefly, now come, now gone.

First the Conclave, the three scrutators, and himself as one of them.
The first scrutiny, the second scrutiny, the third scrutiny and his own
name going up, up, up, as he proclaimed the votes in a loud voice so
that all in the chapel might hear. One vote more to his own name,
another, still another; his fear, his fainting; the gentle tones of an
old Cardinal, saying, "Take your time, brother; rest, repose a while."
Then the election, the awful sense of being God's choice, the almost
unearthly joy of the supreme moment when he became the Vicar of Christ
on earth.

Then the stepping forth from the dim conclave into the full light of day
to be proclaimed the re