Fortunately I had anticipated this action on his part, and had obtained the most binding pledges from the few Cardinals I had won over. There was no election, and Salvatierra returned to his cell, unable to conceal his mortification. ‘Luigi,’ he said to me that night, ‘you have seen how things are going. Against my will I am destined to receive the tiara. This places us both in a different position. You have done your best to serve the personage who desired me to take you into my service, and it is not your fault that you have failed to secure the election of a pro-Italian Cardinal. Now I can place it in your power to achieve the same end by another means. If you will give me the King’s votes in the next ballot, I will pledge myself to negotiate in a friendly and liberal spirit for the settlement of the differences between the Papacy and the Kingdom.’ ‘Your Eminence can escape from the burden of the triple crown,’ I replied, with affected simplicity, ‘by causing your own supporters to accede to any one of the other candidates.’ ‘You mean to Cardinal Sarto,’ his Eminence retorted. ‘You do not suppose that my friends would elect a Dominican or Franciscan puppet? Let me warn you, my dear Signor Luigi, or Monsieur V----, that the Cardinal on whom your master places his reliance, is not strong enough to carry out the reconciliation you desire. Giuseppe Sarto is a saint, not a statesman.’ I felt there was some truth in this warning, but I had my instructions, and I could not in this case look beyond them. I promised to weigh his Eminence’s words, and retired to sound the feeling of the Conclave. I found that the election was already virtually decided. The extraordinary leap upward of Salvatierra, following on my warning, had convinced the two Mendicant Orders of their danger. They had communicated their own fears and suspicions to the rest of the College, and the fatal whisper--‘The Jesuit candidate’--had already run round the Conclave. The two Orders having agreed to withdraw their champions, there remained only one candidate in the field. At the next ballot Cardinal Sarto, the nominee of the excommunicated King of Italy, was triumphantly elected Pope. The amazement of the saintly prelate, who had remained in profound ignorance of the whole of the negotiations and intrigues, softened the hearts of even his rivals, and convinced the most worldly-minded of the electors that they had involuntarily made the right choice. Salvatierra was the first to offer the kiss of homage to his new sovereign. His Eminence’s parting words to myself as we quitted the Conclave made me fear that my triumph was more apparent than real. ‘You have chosen the White Pope, Monsieur V----. It remains to see how you will fare at the hands of the Black Pope.’ He returned to his palace and his curiosities, to all appearance well contented to resume his _rôle_ of harmless antiquary.