system which, among other things, was to comprise a little padlocked
vehicle, in which the food destined for the frugal pontifical table was
to be securely placed before leaving the kitchen, so that it might not be
tampered with on its way to the Pope's apartments. However, this project
had not yet been carried into effect.

"After all," the Count concluded with a laugh, "every pope has to die
some day, especially when his death is needful for the welfare of the
Church. Isn't that so, Abbe?"

Santobono, whom he addressed, had a moment previously lowered his eyes as
if to contemplate the little basket of figs which he held on his lap with
as much care as if it had been the Blessed Sacrament. On being questioned
in such a direct, sharp fashion he could not do otherwise than look up.
However, he did not depart from his prolonged silence, but limited his
answer to a slow nod.

"And it is God alone, and not poison, who causes one to die. Is that not
so, Abbe?" repeated Prada. "It is said that those were the last words of
poor Monsignor Gallo before he expired in the arms of his friend Cardinal
Boccanera."

For the second time Santobono nodded without speaking. And then silence
fell, all three sinking into a dreamy mood.

Meantime, without a pause, the carriage rolled on across the immensity of
the Campagna. The road, straight as an arrow, seemed to extend into the
infinite. As the sun descended towards the horizon the play of light and
shade became more marked on the broad undulations of the ground which
stretched away, alternately of a pinky green and a violet grey, till they