Voices near Vinicius whispered, "Peter! Peter!" Some knelt, others extended their hands toward him.

There followed a silence so deep that one heard every charred particle that dropped from the torches, the distant rattle of wheels on the Via Nomentana, and the sound of wind through the few pines which grew close to the cemetery.
Chilo bent toward Vinicius and whispered,--"This is he! The foremost disciple of Christ-a fisherman!" The old man raised his hand, and with the sign of the cross blessed those present, who fell on their knees simultaneously.

Vinicius and his attendants, not wishing to betray themselves, followed the example of others.

The young man could not seize his impressions immediately, for it seemed to him that the form which he saw there before him was both simple and uncommon, and, what was more, the uncommonness flowed just from the simplicity.

The old man had no mitre on his head, no garland of oak-leaves on his temples, no palm in his hand, no golden tablet on his breast, he wore no white robe embroidered with stars; in a word, he bore no insignia of the kind worn by priests--Oriental, Egyptian, or Greek--or by Roman flamens.