g, and he wished that
it might be diffused to all our families and friends, and be not for the
present moment only, but extend through our whole lives and abide with
us in the hour of death; "But remember," said he with a kind of paternal
benignity, "that the gates of paradise open rarely to any who are
without the communion of the Holy Catholic Church. Sometimes
perhaps--sometimes--but with great difficulty." He extended his hands.
We dropped on our knees and received the blessing of this benign old
man, whom the larger part of Christendom revere as the earthly head of
the Church. As we were making our way through the stately columns of
the colonnade which forms the approach to the Vatican I saw the count
glance at the amulet which Helen wore. "What is in it?" I asked.

"A relic of the blessed Saint Francis, my patron," he replied.

"It will lose its efficacy on the neck of a little heretic like Miss St.
Clair," said I with a purpose.

"It will do her no harm," said he coldly.

Monday I was at the table d'hote the first time for a week. I found the
count seated next to Miss St. Clair. It was very simple, she explained
to me afterward. A lady occupied his seat one day, and he came round to
the only vacant one, which happened to be next hers. I am a very
guileless person, but I think Vincenzo had an excellent reason for
letting it happen. Helen was on my left hand as usual, and the Italian
marquis on my right.

"I am sorry for that boy," said he to me: "he is very unhappy."

"The young count? What is the matter?"

"Don't you see? He is madly in love with your bewitching little
American. It is his first impression, and he takes it hard. Well, he
will have to learn like the rest of us."

"I hope you are mistaken;" and I glanced uneasily at my young neighbors,
who were too much absorbed in their own conversation to heed that
between the marquis and myself.

"That is impossible. He raves to me about her. It is very pretty too--a
perfect idyl, all poetry and romance--eternal, unchangeable, and all
that boyish nonsense. We older men know better. But monsignore will be
here soon, and he will look after him."

"Who is monsignore?"

"The archbishop of Toledo, his guardian. He has been here, but some
diocesan matter called him home. He will be back anon, and then the
count will dine at home. As to that, he does now, and delicious dinners
they are, too. He only makes a pretence of eating here, just to have a
chance t