They have never known hatred or anger; they have always loved and hoped;
all they ask is that you should give them leave to couple your name with
that of Italy on their children's lips. Holy Father, one word from you
will spare them many cruel doubts and many bitter tears. Give them your
blessing, Holy Father!"

The boy's listeners questioned him with look and gesture.

"Still closed," he answered; "still closed. But then a tremendous chant
burst out, followed by a wild surging of the crowd: the soldiers were
singing.--'These are our soldiers,' the people cried; 'they shall be
yours, Holy Father. They come from the fields and the workshops; they
will keep watch at your door, Holy Father, they will attend upon your
steps. They were born under your rule, as children they heard your
glorious cry for liberty, they fought the stranger in your name and in
that of their king; in the hour of danger, you will find them close
about your throne, ready to die for you. One word, Holy Father, and
these swords, these breasts, this flesh and blood is yours! They ask
your blessing on their country, Holy Father, they ask you to repeat your
own glorious words!'...

"A window in the Vatican opened. The song ceased, the shouts died out--
silence. There was not a soul in the window. For a few seconds the
immense multitude seemed to stop breathing. It seemed as though
something moved behind the window--as though at the back of the room a
shadow appeared and then vanished. Then we fancied that we caught a
glimpse of people moving to and fro, and heard a vague sound. Every face
was turned towards the window, every eye was fixed upon it. Suddenly, as
if by inspiration, every arm in the multitude was stretched out towards
the palace; mothers lifted their children above their heads, soldiers