other, a hundred churches chimed in. The crowds of Borgo Pio surged frantically back towards the left bank of the Tiber, invading the streets, the squares, the houses, stripping the coverings from the papal escutcheons, carrying in triumph busts of Pius IX., portraits and banners. Thousands assembled with frantic cheers before the palaces of the Roman nobles who are known for their devotion to the Holy See. In answer to the cheers, the owners of the houses appeared on their balconies and unfurled the Italian flag.
"Wait a minute, I'm out of breath ". . .
As soon as he had recovered his breath he was assailed with fresh questions.
"Well, and what then? And the Vatican—? The Pope—?"
"I don't know.—But Rome that night . . . how can I ever tell you how beautiful, how great, how marvellous it was! The night was perfectly clear, and I don't believe such an illumination was ever seen since the world began. The Corso was on fire; the churches were jammed with people, and there was preaching in every one of them. The streets were full of music, dancing, and singing; people harangued the crowds in the cafés and the theatres.
"I wanted to see St. Peter's again. There had been a rumor that His Holiness needed rest, and Borgo Pio was as still as it is on the
