Along the central passage, between the benches, a procession of priests advanced, two and two, holding in their hands long painted tapers, covered with funny little fringed extinguishers. They approached the throne, handed the tapers to attendants, fell on their knees, and kissed the Pope’s ring. On the beautiful face of the Pontiff shone a radiant smile. He said a few words to each one, sometimes whispered in their ears, and often laughed. This was not the face of a mighty sovereign, but only that of a good, kind old man, who had long ago learnt that all sorrows, all dreams, all hopes, are soon over, and that life is short, and does not contain anything specially good or attractive. He was deeply sorry for all those expectant pilgrims, exciting themselves about nothing at all, awaiting Heaven knows what, and needlessly tiring themselves out; and all he could do was to help them with a kind word, a warm glance, and with the love that illumined his beautiful features. It seemed to Irene that, for the first time in centuries, a truly Christian pastor reigned in Rome, and one who in spirit resembled the first Christian apostles, the builders of the Church. What a striking contrast between this Pope and his surrounding Court! They, too, were all smiling at the pilgrims; but what hypocrisy, what falseness and flattery, breathed in those smiles! Their crafty faces were cold and indifferent. For them, this ceremony was only one of the countless comedies in which they had constantly to play parts. Two of these papal courtiers, both still young and handsome, were obviously posing before the aristocratic Roman ladies, among whom they probably had admiring friends. The ceremony lasted a long time. The tapers, in the hands of the priests, moved along in endless procession. Everyone was tired and hot, all faces were flushed. The courtiers around the throne left off smiling, and made no attempt to hide their fatigue. Only the Pope alone smiled as warmly and caressingly as before upon each man who knelt before him. For him, this was no ceremony, this was a human service, which he rendered joyfully. At last, the final tapers were presented. His Holiness rose, blessed the bowing crowd, and left the hall. There was a general rush for the door. Close to Irene, a young French girl was heatedly disputing some point with her mother. “Mais, il t’a donné sa bénédiction, ma chère,” persuaded the mother. “He has blessed us all. What more do you want?” But the girl was not consoled, and only looked sadly at the door, behind which the Pope had disappeared. Irene understood: she, too, felt sad at the thought that she would never again see that beautiful Christian smile. V The same evening, Irene announced to Père Etienne that all her doubts were at an end, and that she had decided to take the Veil. She would now only ask him to find her a suitable convent.