Every day the long gallery of the Louvre was filled with two rows of men and women who had come to ask his blessing. Preceded by the governor of the Louvre, and followed by the Italian cardinals and nobles of his household, Pius VII. advanced slowly between the two lines of the faithful, often stopping to place his hand on some child's head, to say some kind words to its mother, and to offer his ring to be kissed. One day, when he was surrounded by a crowd of prostrate and respectful people, he saw a man whose worn face bore traces of irreligious passion, who was moving away as if to escape the apostolic benediction. The Holy Father approached him, and said gently, "Do not run away; an old man's blessing has never done any one any harm." This remark spread through Paris and made a most favorable impression. Pius VII. was not only respected, but, if we may use the worldly phrase, he became the fashion. Dealers in rosaries and chaplets made much money all that winter. In January alone a shopkeeper in the rue Saint Denis who sold those articles is said to have cleared forty thousand francs. All who approached the Pope had chaplets blessed for themselves, their relatives, and friends in Paris and the provinces. "The prolonged stay of the Holy Father," says Bourrienne, "was not without influence in the return to religious ideas, so great was the respect inspired by the Pope's gentle appearance and kindly manners. When, the time came for him to be persecuted, it would have been desirable that Pius VII. had never come to Paris, for it was impossible to look upon him otherwise than as a man whose holy gentleness was a matter of notoriety." At Saint Helena, Napoleon spoke thus of this venerable Pope: "He was really a lamb, a thoroughly good and upright man, whom I greatly esteem and love, and who, I am sure, does not wholly hate me."