the Imperial Theater, or its manager, not if the Pope and all the College of Cardinals united in asking him.
"Monsieur," said the Holy Father, gently, but with authority: "This young relative of mine tells me that her salary is to be increased fifteen francs the week at your theater if her name and relationship to me shall be exploited. I offer her twenty-five francs the week if she will forego this. It does not appear to me to be proper that such exploitation should take place."
Duvernet bowed to the ground.
"Holy Father," said he, with deepest humility, "it rests with Mademoiselle Chiaramonti." And he whispered to Fifi behind his hand, "Thirty francs."
"Thirty francs!" cried Fifi indignantly, "only just now you were telling me that it was not even worth twenty-five francs!"
The Holy Father's voice was heard—gentle as ever—
"Thirty-five francs."
Duvernet, being found out, and seeing that he had the Supreme Pontiff on the other side of the market, concluded it was no time for diffidence, so he cried out boldly:
