change of mind, which no doubt would startle them almost as much as that of Madame Pisa-Vitri. One thing seemed clear; his demeanour must be bold. The venture might retrieve the fortunes of his Church, and mark him as her most distinguished son; while if it failed, if he were to be rebuffed and disowned as a heretic—why, schism had rent the old structure in twain before; and a new and more formidable one, which he would conduct, should rend it in pieces. A Catholic and a prelate, if you please; but a man of ambition first. A Christian, of course, no doubt; but neither Christ, nor all his apostolic successors, should stand in Cardinal Power’s light, if he could help it. That was settled, and now he could go to sleep, just as grey morning began to spread over the meadows and blossoming orchards of the southern provinces.
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It was the morning of the second day after the Cardinal had left England; consternation was rife at the Vatican, for the blow had fallen suddenly. The Pope held consultation with his most trusted advisers in his audience-chamber, which was besieged by a number of old inmates of the vast palace, whom the stern summons of the police had routed out of their seclusion, as smoke drives crawling insects out of the crannies of a wall. The day had come when, by the decree of the Government, which practically was ruled by Madame Pisa-Vitri, the papacy, with all its belongings, must quit its ancient home by sunset. A long special train would convey the company at that hour to Civita Vecchia, where a large and well-appointed steamer would lie ready to start for any destination out of the Italian dominions, and within a few days’ voyage, which the exiled pontiff might fix on for his abode. The meeting in the audience-chamber was an excited one for such an assembly; in the hour of common adversity, much etiquette was
