will learn from him how to make shoes, and how to live without
desire. After which, I shall not be sad again. For desire and idleness
alone make us sad."

The Countess Martin smiled.

"Monsieur Choulette, I desire nothing, and, nevertheless, I am not
joyful. Must I make shoes, too?"

Choulette replied, gravely:

"It is not yet time for that."

When they reached the gardens of the Oricellari, Madame Marmet sank on a
bench. She had examined at Santa Maria-Novella the frescoes of
Ghirlandajo, the stalls of the choir, the Virgin of Cimabue, the
paintings in the cloister. She had done this carefully, in memory of her
husband, who had greatly liked Italian art. She was tired. Choulette sat
by her and said:

"Madame, could you tell me whether it is true that the Pope's gowns are
made by Worth?"

Madame Marmet thought not. Nevertheless, Choulette had heard people say
this in cafes. Madame Marmet was astonished that Choulette, a Catholic
and a socialist, should speak so disrespectfully of a pope friendly to
the republic. But he did not like Leo XIII.

"The wisdom of princes is shortsighted," he said; "the salvation of the
Church must come from the Italian republic, as Leo XIII believes and
wishes; but the Church will not be saved in the manner which this pious
Machiavelli thinks. The revolution will make the Pope lose his last sou,
with the rest of his patrimony. And it will be salvation. The Pope,
destitute and poor, will then become powerful. He will agitate the world.
We shall see again Peter, Lin, Clet, Anaclet, and Clement; the humble,
the ignorant; men like the early saints will change the face of the
earth. If to-morrow, in the chair of Peter, came to sit a real bishop, a
real Christian, I would go to him, and say: 'Do not be an old man buried
alive in a golden tomb; quit your noble guards and your cardinals; quit
your court and its similacrums of power. Take my arm and come with me to
beg for your bread among the nations. Covered with rags, poor, ill,
dying, go on the highways, showing in yourself the image of Jesus. Say,
"I am begging my bread for the condemnation of the wealthy." Go into the
cities, and shout from door to door, with a sublime stupidity, "Be
humble, be gentle, be poor!" Announce peace and charity to the cities, to
the dens, and to the barracks. You will be disdained; the mob will throw
stones at you. Policemen will drag you into prison. You shall be for the
humble as for the powerful, for the