At this singularly inopportune moment I was rudely interrupted. The
crowd parted and fell this way and that without my perception, and a
hand clapped upon my shoulder brought me to earth from those middle
regions of the aether, where I had seemed to be afloat. It was as if,
looking up at the stars, I had stumbled on a knotty root.

An officer of the Inquisition stood beside me, a tall, keen-eyed man,
cloaked in black.

"I have been watching you, young man, for two hours," he said. "You
perform your devotions somewhat publicly, and seem to have a great deal
to say about your spiritual state. The Church has appointed ways and
means for the consolation of the faithful, some of which are no doubt
open to you. Only scandal can ensue these kind of practices."

I was highly indignant, as who would not have been? "Upon my word, sir,"
I exclaimed, "if a sinner may not proclaim, his repentance so near the
throne of pardon, nor a faithful believer record his sincerity within
this shadow of the truth---"

"Such excesses as you use," he stopped me, "savour of private conscience
following its own bent. The Church is distrustful of such excursions.
That crucifix which you carry, for instance---"

I clasped it with fervour. "Ah, it is my passport!"

"Sovereigns and rulers of States," said the officer, "will require more
particulars, and so, for that matter, will the police of Bologna. This
is useless for any such purpose, and your pretence only adds urgency to
my desire of you. I don't wish to be severe with you. I ask you in a