"We have summoned you, in order that ye may speak your minds to Us," the Supreme Pontiff said: "but ye shall know that We will not hold any communication with you except Our utterances and yours be recorded by these instruments." His voice was very frigid: but there was neither menace nor offence in it. His quiet tone totally was at variance with the furious defiance of the matter of His words. The paradox disconcerted his hearers. Sant went magenta with wrath: remembered how much he had at stake; and was canny enough not to demur. With an attempt at an easy laugh, he said that it was a little unusual, not quite what he expected, but he didn't want to be unpleasant to His Lordship, and so he had no objection he was sure. And he lolled in his armchair, as who should say "A'm fair easy." Mrs. Crowe bit her upper lip: but said that she had no objection either. Hadrian waved His hand; and the pontifical gentleman sat down and set the machines in motion. The Pope put the woman to the question: "Madam, what do you want?" Face to face with that she failed to put her want in words. It was an acrid pungent permanent want, not-to-be-named. She bit at her upper lip again; and looked at Jerry for a lead. He proceeded "I think, Reverend Sir, that it will be more advantageous for all parties if I was to speak for Mrs. Crowe." "We will concede the point. Sir, what do you want?" the Pontiff said. Then the virtuous Jerry also began to flounder. Want? Eh, but he wanted several things. "Name them:" the Pope commanded. "Well:--reparation--damages." "For what?" the Pope inquired. "For ma loss of time whiles I've had to be here and for ma business which Ye may say's gone ta th dogs; and for the loss of ma Liblab Fellowship." "To what extent have you suffered?" "To fhat extent? Well, I'll let Ye know. I've been here since last July, say eight months, say forty weeks, say three hundred days; and I take ordinarily a pound-note per day on journeys for expenses: but it's cost me a heap more than that this trip. Ye can call it five hundred pounds for out-of-pocket expenses. Then there's ma business which I've had to neglect, eight months, better say a year at one-fifty for salary, and commissions--say another fifty. There's eight hundreds. Then they've had the cheek to expel me as a Fellowshipper, as I suppose Ye've heard. Of course that's very damaging to ma prestige, say to the extent of a couple of thousands. Fhat's that come to? Two thousands eight hundreds--may as well call it three thousands. And of course there's fhat old Krooger named moral and intellectual damage--I don't know fhat tae pit that at, I'm sure--but Ye might tot it all up together and call it twenty thousands." "And your companion?" "Aweel, Ye'd better double it and we'll both ca' quits. Forty thousands cash!" The Pope cast a slight look round upon his cardinals. They returned it. "You are demanding that We should pay you forty thousand pounds," He said to the expectant Jerry.