"Farewell, my dear son," he said, "and once again think over all you have seen and heard in Rome.

Be as sensible as you can, and do not spoil your life." Pierre bowed, and pressed the small, plump, supple hand which the prelate offered him.

"Monseigneur," he replied, "I again thank you for all your kindness; you may be sure that I shall forget nothing of my journey." Then he watched Nani as he went off, with a light and conquering step as if marching to all the victories of the future.

No, no, he, Pierre, would forget nothing of his journey! He well knew that union of all the nations under their holy mother the Church, that temporal bondage in which the law of Christ would become the dictatorship of Augustus, master of the world! And as for those Jesuits, he had no doubt that they did love France, the eldest daughter of the Church, and the only daughter that could yet help her mother to reconquer universal sovereignty, but they loved her even as the black swarms of locusts love the harvests which they swoop upon and devour.

Infinite sadness had returned to the young man's heart as he dimly realised that in that sorely-stricken mansion, in all that mourning and downfall, it was they, they again, who must have been the artisans of grief and disaster.
As this thought came to him he turned round and perceived Don Vigilio leaning against the credence in front of the large portrait of the Cardinal.