such wonders as our Father Ramoni has
wrought."

From behind them came the rising voice of the little priest, bubbling
into laughter. "And as I came through the Pincio all that I heard was
his name. I had to wait for a duchessa's carriage to pass. She was
telling an American woman of the times when Father Ramoni had preached
at San Carlo. 'His words would convert a Hindu,' she was saying. And
the Marchesi di San Quevo leaned from his horse to tell me that he had
heard that Father Ramoni will be one of the Cardinals of the next
Consistory. Is it not wonderful?"

The murmur of their responses went across the garden to old Father
Denfili. Father Tomasso, crossing the path with the novice, suddenly
saw a strange look of pain on the old priest's face, and started
toward him just as the gate to the cloister garden swung back,
revealing a picture that held him waiting. Four men--a great Roman
prelate, the General of San Ambrogio, Father Ramoni and Father Pietro,
Ramoni's secretary--were coming into the garden. Of the four Father
Ramoni stood out in the center of the group as vividly as if a
searchlight were playing on his magnificent bigness. His deep black
eyes, set in a face whose strength had been emphasized by its exposure
to sun and wind, gleamed joyous with his mood. His mouth, large,
expressive, the plastic mouth of the orator, was curving into a smile
as he gave heed to the speech of the prelate beside him. Once he shook
his head as the great man, oblivious of their coming before a crowd of
intent watchers, continued the words he had been saying on Via Paoli.

"And the Holy See is about to make your Marqua into a Province. Is it
not wonderful, Father Ramoni, that you will go back with that gift to
the people you converted? And yet to me it is more wonderful that you
wish to go back. Why do you not stay here? You, a Roman, would
advance."

"Not now, Monsignore," the missionary answered quickly. They were
passing the group near the fountain, going toward the bench where
Father Denfili sat. Ramoni's secretary, a thin, serious-visaged priest
of about the same age as his Superior, with bald head and timid,
shrinking eyes, took with the greatest deference the cloak and hat
Father Ramoni handed to him. Then he fell back of the old General.
The prelate answered Ramoni. "But you are right, of course," he
admitted. "It is best that you return. The Church needs you there now.
But later on--_chi lo sa_? You are to preach Sun