The Cardinal-deacon of St. Cosmas and St. Damian did it. The acts of the consistory, in so far as they related to the calumny against the Pope, duly appeared in the _Times_ and the _Globe_ and the _New York Times_ as news which was fit to print. Innumerable other papers lifted them with acknowledgments. No comment was made. The collared-puppy-in-the-Tube, and the spectacled-person-in-the-motor-car, and the female-with-the-loaf-coloured-hat-at-the-bargain-sale, forgot all about George Arthur Rose: paid no attention whatever to the Pope; and violently sat up on their hind-legs regarding the Supreme Arbitrator. France and Russia emitted caricatures and howls; and prepared to invade Belgium and Sweden, with the intention of descending on Germany from three sides. Mrs. Crowe became conscious that she had lost rather than had gained by her connection with Jerry Sant. The English Catholics treated her as they are wont to treat converts after the first three months; and shewed her the cold shoulder. The refutation of her latest calumny had made her look foolish--and something dirtier than foolish. She was mortified: she was angry with herself; and she naturally yearned to tear and mangle everybody else. She thought that the best thing which she could do would be to pose as a much deceived woman, to break that disastrous connection with the Liblabs, and to return (if possible) to the status quo ante. So she went and fell upon Jerry, vituperating him for the accented failure of his schemes--for leading an innocent lady astray with his nastiness, and his pig-headed stupidity, and all that. She frankly told him that he had gone too far. The precious pair "had words"; and finally separated. Jerry remained at his hotel, dumb and dangerous, brooding. As for the lady, respectable mediocrity allured her by the prospect which it offered of a not unfamiliar obscurity, where she might try to piece-together the shreds and tatters of her reputation. She had a little money left--and with economy----She would stay just a little longer. Who knew what might happen?