His old scheme leaped back to his mind, and stood poised there
convincing and imperious.
"Yes, my son, speak plainly."
"Your Holiness—it is old—old as Rome—every fool has desired it: a new Order, Holiness—a new Order," he stammered.
The white hand dropped the paper-weight; the Pope leaned forward, looking intently at the priest.
"Yes, my son?"
Percy threw himself on his knees.
"A new Order, Holiness—no habit or badge—subject to your Holiness only—freer than Jesuits, poorer than Franciscans, more mortified than Carthusians: men and women alike—the three vows with the intention of martyrdom; the Pantheon for their Church; each bishop responsible for their sustenance; a lieutenant in each country.... (Holiness, it is the thought of a fool.) ... And Christ Crucified for their patron."
The Pope stood up abruptly—so abruptly that Cardinal Martin sprang up too, apprehensive and terrified. It seemed that this young man had gone too far.
Then the Pope sat down again, extending his hand.
"God bless you, my son. You have leave to go. . . . Will your Eminence stay for a few minutes?"
