heard"--he lowered his voice as he glanced over his shoulder to where
Father Denfili sat on the bench by the pond--"that it is certain that
Marqua is to be made a Province, with an archbishop and two bishops.
There is a seminary in Marqua, even now, and they are training some of
the natives to be catechists. I tell you, Brother Luigi, missionary
history has never chronicled such wonders as our Father Ramoni has
wrought."

From behind them came the rising voice of the little priest, bubbling
into laughter. "And as I came through the Pincio all that I heard was
his name. I had to wait for a duchessa's carriage to pass. She was
telling an American woman of the times when Father Ramoni had preached
at San Carlo. 'His words would convert a Hindu,' she was saying. And
the Marchesi di San Quevo leaned from his horse to tell me that he had
heard that Father Ramoni will be one of the Cardinals of the next
Consistory. Is it not wonderful?"

The murmur of their responses went across the garden to old Father
Denfili. Father Tomasso, crossing the path with the novice, suddenly
saw a strange look of pain on the old priest's face, and started
toward him just as the gate to the cloister garden swung back,
revealing a picture that held him waiting. Four men--a great Roman
prelate, the General of San Ambrogio, Father Ramoni and Father Pietro,
Ramoni's secretary--were coming into the garden. Of the four Father
Ramoni stood out in the center of the group as vividly as if a
searchlight were playing on his magnificent bigness. His deep black
eyes, set in a face whose strength had been emphasized by its exposure
to sun and wind, gleamed joyous with his mood. His mouth, large,
expressive, the plastic mouth of the orator, was curving into a smile
as he gave heed to the speech of the prelate beside him. Once he shook