lanet sank among a
number of cloudlets, figuring an archipelago of gold in an ocean of dying
embers. And excepting the sapphire sky, studded with rubies, above the
endless line of the Campagna, which was likewise changed into a sparkling
lake, the dull green of the herbage turning to a liquid emerald tint,
there was nothing to be seen, neither a hillock nor a flock--nothing,
indeed, but Cardinal Boccanera's black figure, erect among the tombs, and
looking, as it were, enlarged as it stood out against the last purple
flush of the sunset.

Early on the following morning Pierre, eager to see everything, returned
to the Appian Way in order to visit the catacomb of St. Calixtus, the
most extensive and remarkable of the old Christian cemeteries, and one,
too, where several of the early popes were buried. You ascend through a
scorched garden, past olives and cypresses, reach a shanty of boards and
plaster in which a little trade in "articles of piety" is carried on, and
there a modern and fairly easy flight of steps enables you to descend.
Pierre fortunately found there some French Trappists, who guard these
catacombs and show them to strangers. One brother was on the point of
going down with two French ladies, the mother and daughter, the former
still comely and the other radiant with youth. They stood there smiling,
though already slightly frightened, while the monk lighted some long,
slim candles. He was a man with a bossy brow, the large, massive jaw of
an obstinate believer and pale eyes bespeaking an ingenuous soul.

"Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe," he said to Pierre, "you've come just in time. If
the ladies are willing, you had better come with us; for three Brothers
are already below with people, and you would have a long time to wait.
This is the great season for visitors."

The ladies politely nodded, and the Trappist handed a candle to the
priest. In all probability neither mother nor daughter was devout, for
both glanced askance at their new companion's cassock, and suddenly
became serious. Then they all went down and found themselves in a narrow
subterranean corridor. "Take care, mesdames," repeated the Trappist,
lighting the ground with his candle. "Walk slowly, for there are
projections and slopes."

Then, in a shrill voice full of extraordinary conviction, he began his
explanations. Pierre had descended in silence, his heart beating with
emotion. Ah! how many times, indeed, in his innocent seminary days, had
he not d