But how great was the command which the hot-blooded priest exercised over himself amidst the riotous impulses of his soul! On either side of the road the Campagna still and ever spread its expanse of verdure, and Prada, who had become grave and dreamy, gazed before him without seeing anything.

At last, however, he gave expression to his thoughts.

"You know, Abbe, what will be said if the Pope should die this time.

That sudden illness, those colics, those refusals to make any information public, mean nothing good--Yes, yes, poison, just as for the others!" Pierre gave a start of stupefaction.

The Pope poisoned! "What! Poison?
Again ?" he exclaimed as he gazed at his companions with dilated eyes.
Poison at the end of the nineteenth century, as in the days of the Borgias, as on the stage in a romanticist melodrama! To him the idea appeared both monstrous and ridiculous.
Santobono, whose features had become motionless and impenetrable, made no reply.