Down and down he came, while the trumpets cried, and the waves of colour followed him, and then vanished for a time among the crowd beneath, as he reached the level ground.
Monsignor Masterman leaned back and closed his eyes.

.

.

.
He was disturbed by another touch on his arm; and, looking up, perceived that his friend was attracting his attention almost mechanically, and without looking at him.
"Look," murmured Father Jervis--"it's the white jennet." Beneath, the street was now as wholly ecclesiastical as it had been military just before, except that the Papal zouaves marched in single file on either side of the procession.

But within there was just one packed army, going eight abreast, of seminarians and clerics.