Francis rose from his knees. He had a sense of being crushed by a cruel and superior force. His eyes were dry; but he saw nothing. He turned and moved slowly toward the door. Innocent made a sudden gesture of disappointment. Francis took a few more steps, hesitated, and then turned. "Father Pope," he said, "there was once in the desert a woman, very poor but beautiful. A great king seeing her beauty desired to take her to wife, that by her he might have beautiful children. So it was done; and many children were born to him. And when the children were grown up, their mother spoke to them, saying: 'My children, you have no reason to be ashamed, for you are the sons of the king; go, therefore, to his court, and he will give you all things that are necessary to you.' And when they had arrived, the king admired their beauty, and finding in them his own likeness, he spoke to them, saying: 'Whose sons are ye?' And when they had answered that they were the sons of a poor woman dwelling in the desert, the king embraced them with great joy, crying: 'Fear not, because you are mine own sons. If strangers eat at my table, shall I turn away those who are my lawful children?' And the king commanded the woman that she should send him all the sons whom she had borne, in order that he might care for them." He paused for a moment, and then continued: "I am, Holy Father, that poor woman, whom God in his love has deigned to make beautiful, and by whom it has pleased him to have lawful children. The King of kings has told me that he will nourish all the children he has by me, for if he nourishes bastards, how much more should he nourish his lawful children?" He spoke the last words vehemently, standing rigid before Innocent, with blazing eyes; and the Pope sat immobile, watching him with inscrutable calm. "My son, come here," said Innocent at last.