pomp and circumstance from the gallery of St. Peter's, the holy father
seated on the highest throne of majesty, with his triple crown on has
head, and all his cardinals and bishops about him in their most effulgent
robes.

The silver trumpets were blown, while artillery roared from the castle
of St. Angelo, and for two successive nights Rome was in a blaze of
bonfires and illumination, in a whirl of bell-ringing, feasting, and
singing of hosannaha. There had not been such a merry-making in the
eternal city since the pope had celebrated solemn thanksgiving for the
massacre of St. Bartholomew. The king was almost beside himself with
rapture when the great news reached him, and he straightway wrote
letters, overflowing with gratitude and religious enthusiasm, to the
pontiff and expressed his regret that military operations did not allow
him to proceed at once to Rome in person to kiss the holy father's feet.


The narrative returns to Fuentes, who was left before the walls of
Cambray.

That venerable ecclesiastical city; pleasantly seated amid gardens,
orchards, and green pastures, watered, by the winding Scheld, was well
fortified after the old manner, but it was especially defended and
dominated by a splendid pentagonal citadel built by Charles V. It was
filled with fine churches, among which the magnificent cathedral was
pre-eminent, and with many other stately edifices. The population was
thrifty, active, and turbulent, like that of all those Flemish and
Walloon cities which the spirit of mediaeval industry had warmed for a
time into vehement little republics.