escaped him, Sacco stole his millions, and Benedetta tortured his flesh,
stirring up that awful wound of unsatisfied passion which never would be
healed.

Again did Pierre hear that dull plaint, that involuntary despairing
growl, which had upset him once before. And he looked at the Count, and
asked him: "Are you suffering?" But on seeing how livid was the face of
Prada, who only retained his calmness by a superhuman effort, he
regretted his indiscreet question, which, moreover, remained unanswered.
And then to put the other more at ease, the young priest went on
speaking, venting the thoughts which the sight before him inspired: "Your
father was right," said he, "we Frenchmen whose education is so full of
the Catholic spirit, even in these days of universal doubt, we never
think of Rome otherwise than as the old Rome of the popes. We scarcely
know, we can scarcely understand the great changes which, year by year,
have brought about the Italian Rome of the present day. Why, when I
arrived here, the King and his government and the young nation working to
make a great capital for itself, seemed to me of no account whatever!
Yes, I dismissed all that, thought nothing of it, in my dream of
resuscitating a Christian and evangelical Rome, which should assure the
happiness of the world."

He laughed as he spoke, pitying his own artlessness, and then pointed
towards the gallery where Prince Buongiovanni was bowing to the King
whilst the Princess listened to the gallant remarks of Sacco: a scene
full of symbolism, the old papal aristocracy struck down, the /parvenus/
accepted, the black and white worlds so mixed together that one and all
were little else than subjects, on the eve of forming but one united
nation. That conciliation between the Quirinal and the Vatican which in
principle was regarded as impossible, was it not in practice fatal, in