His cardinal's biretta seemed to swell with pride on his little, white and shining head.

Never was a crown worn with such pride as that red cap.
He stretched out his hand, gloved in purple, on which shone the episcopal emerald ring, with such an imperious gesture that one after another of the canons found themselves forced to kiss it.

It was the submission of churchmen, accustomed from their seminary to an apparent humility which covered rancours and hatreds of an intensity unknown in ordinary life.

The Cardinal guessed their disinclination, and gloated over his triumph.
"You have no idea what our hatreds are," he had often said, to his friend, the gardener's widow.

"In ordinary life few men die of ill-humour; he who is annoyed gives vent to it, and recovers his equanimity.