"Oh, God--oh, God!" cried the mother and daughters, with clasped hands.

"That song re-echoed in every heart; it touched something deep down and
tender in every one of us. A thrill ran through the crowd; there was a
wild waving of arms and hands, as though to take the place of speech;
but the only sound was a confused murmur.

"'Holy Father,' that murmur seemed to say, 'look at them, listen to
them! They are our children, they are your little ones, who are looking
for you, who are praying to you, who implore your blessing. Yield to
their entreaty; give them your blessing; grant that our religion and our
country may dwell together as one faith in our hearts. One word from
you, Holy Father, one sign from you, one glance even, promising pardon
and peace, and every man of us shall be with you and for you, now and
for ever! Look--these our children and your little ones!'

"Thousands of banners fluttered in the air, the song ceased, and a deep
silence followed."

"Well?" they cried breathlessly.

"Still shut up," the lad answered. "Then the women began to sing. There
was a deep thrill in the immense voice that rose; a something that
throbs only in the breast of mothers; it seemed a cry rather than a
hymn; it was sweet and solemn.

"At first the crowd was motionless; then a wave of excitement passed
over it, and the hymn was drowned in a great clamor: 'These are our
mothers, these are our wives and sisters; Holy Father, listen to them.