from his seat, but could not do so. "Help me,
Monsignor," he said faintly, and the prelate raised him to his feet.
Then leaning on the prelate's arm, he walked to the door of his private
chapel. On reaching it he looked back at Father Pifferi, who was going
silently out of the room.

"Addio, carissimo," he said, in a pitiful voice, but the Capuchin could
not reply.

Some moments afterwards the Pope was quite alone. The arched windows of
the little chapel were covered with heavy red curtains, but the clanging
of the brass tongues in the cupola, the deep throb of the organ, and the
rolling waves of the voices of the people singing the grand Hallelujah,
found their way into the darkened chamber. But above all other sounds in
the ears of the Pope as he lay prostrate on the altar steps was the
sound of a voice which said, "You, the Vicar of Jesus Christ; you, the
rock on which the Saviour built His Church; you, the living voice of
God; you, the infallible one; you, who fill the most exalted dignity on
earth--_remember you are but clay_."

XXI

"Acqua Acetosa!" "Roba Vecchia!" "Rannocchie!"

The street cries were ringing through the Navona, the piazza was alive
with people, and strangers were saluting each other as they passed on
the pavement when Roma returned home. At the lodge the Garibaldian
wished her a good Easter, and at the door of the apartment the curate of
the parish, who in cotta and biretta was making his Easter call to
sprinkle the rooms with holy water, gave her a smile and his blessing,
while old Francesca, inside the house, laying the Easter sideboard of
cakes, sausages, and eggs, put both hands behind her back, like a child
playing a game, and cried--

"Now, what does the Signora think I've got for her?"

It was a letter, and as the old woman produced it she was glowing with
happiness at the joy she was bringing to Roma.

"The porter from Trinita de' Monti brought it," she said, "and he told
me to tell you there's a lay sister called Sister Angelica at the
convent now, and he is afraid that other letters may go astray....
Aren't you glad you've got a letter, Signora? I thought Signora would
die of delight, and I gave the man six soldi."

Roma was turning the envelope over and over in her hands, thinking what
a call to joy a letter of Rossi's used to be, and wondering if she ought
to open this one.

"Well, that was the way with me too when Tommaso was at the wars