O mighty God and sovereign Master, dispose of me, make me if such be Thy good pleasure the pontiff of destruction, the pontiff of the death of the world." Pierre, who was thunderstruck, quivered with fear and admiration at the extraordinary vision this evoked: the last of the popes interring Catholicism.

He understood that Boccanera must at times have made that dream; he could see him in the Vatican, in St.Peter's which the thunderbolts had riven asunder, he could see him erect and alone in the spacious halls whence his terrified, cowardly pontifical Court had fled.
Clad in his white cassock, thus wearing white mourning for the Church, he once more descended to the sanctuary, there to wait for heaven to fall on the evening of Time's accomplishment and annihilate the earth.

Thrice he raised the large crucifix, overthrown by the supreme convulsions of the soil.

Then, when the final crack rent the steps apart, he caught it in his arms and was annihilated with it beneath the falling vaults.

And nothing could be more instinct with fierce and kingly grandeur.
Voiceless, but without weakness, his lofty stature invincible and erect in spite of all, Cardinal Boccanera made a gesture dismissing Pierre, who yielding to his passion for truth and beauty found that he alone was great and right, and respectfully kissed his hand.
It was in the throne-room, with closed doors, at nightfall, after the visits had ceased, that the two bodies were laid in their coffin.