might as well ask me to go and
stab her. Oh, how can I tell her--how can I!"

He had clasped both hands over his eyes; but, without seeing, he felt
the smuggler start beside him, and looked up. Gemma was standing in the
doorway.

"Have you heard, Cesare?" she said. "It is all over. They have shot
him."

CHAPTER VIII.

"INTROIBO ad altare Dei." Montanelli stood before the high altar among
his ministers and acolytes and read the Introit aloud in steady tones.
All the Cathedral was a blaze of light and colour; from the holiday
dresses of the congregation to the pillars with their flaming draperies
and wreaths of flowers there was no dull spot in it. Over the open
spaces of the doorway fell great scarlet curtains, through whose folds
the hot June sunlight glowed, as through the petals of red poppies in
a corn-field. The religious orders with their candles and torches, the
companies of the parishes with their crosses and flags, lighted up the
dim side-chapels; and in the aisles the silken folds of the processional
banners drooped, their gilded staves and tassels glinting under the
arches. The surplices of the choristers gleamed, rainbow-tinted, beneath
the coloured windows; the sunlight lay on the chancel floor in
chequered stains of orange and purple and green. Behind the altar hung
a shimmering veil of silver tissue; and against the veil and the
decorations and the altar-lights the Cardinal's figure stood out in its
trailing white robes like a marble statue that had come to life.

As was customary on processional days, he was only to preside at the
Mass, not to celebrate, so at the end of the Indulgentiam he turned
from the altar and walked slowly to the episcopal throne, celebrant and
ministers bowing low as he passed.

"I'm afraid His Eminence is not well," one of the canons whispered to
his neighbour; "he seems so strange."

Montanelli bent his head to receive the jewelled mitre. The priest who
was acting as deacon of honour put it on, looked at him for an instant,
then leaned forward and whispered softly:

"Your Eminence, are you ill?"

Montanelli turned slightly towards him. There was no recognition in his
eyes.

"Pardon, Your Eminence!" the priest whispered, as he made a genuflexion
and went back to his place, reproaching himself for having interrupted
the Cardinal's devotions.

The familiar ceremony went on; and Montanelli sat erect and still, his
glittering mitre and gold-brocaded vestments flas