It was a pleasant ride on the Via Campana, some six miles along the right bank of the Tiber. I found that I was not alone in seeking an audience with His Holiness. To my surprise I fell in with no less a personage than the Archbishop of Bari, the original cause of all my adventures. I eyed him awkwardly for a moment, but he veiled his biretta affably, and drew his palfrey beside mine whilst our men cantered behind. “Believe me, illustrious conte,” he declared, “I have long since realized who was responsible for that little adventure three years ago--and--Santa Maria!--the prebend the Pope gave me then has more than paid for the shock to my feelings. Inasmuch as I understand you are no longer friendly with Forli, _certamente_ you are again my very good friend.” So we chatted amiably and I was pleased indeed to learn that the game had been very abundant of late, for bad hunting meant that the Pope would be in most atrocious humor. “Indeed,” Bari assured me, “only ‘two cross-bows’ this season can bring in a cartload of game--stags and deer, as well as pheasants and hares. His Holiness will be delighted to grant us all kinds of favors, the more so as he will be glad of our company as a foil to the sombre fellow who went out to him earlier in the day.” “Whom do you mean?” “Why, Sylvestro Priario the Censor, to be sure. He carries the final draught of the Bull against Luther the Heretic.” “But the Pope can only consent to that in the full consistory.” “Of course. The formal consent then, but the informal consent, authorizing the notaries to have the document engrossed for the regular sealing and publishing--that can be given to-day; probably this noon before we depart. Ah! well--it was high time an end was made to the pestilent fellow. I presume you heard quite a little of him in Germany.” I fear my answer was evasive, and my whole conversation from this point stupid and wandering. I was letting my thoughts stray far indeed from that venerable river road in the green Italian country. I was thinking how that noon Leo de’ Medici, in the intervals betwixt the hunting, was like to take that action which might affect the lives, thoughts, souls of generations yet unborn; might set cities flaming, armies marching; might array king against king, and nation against nation. And all the while up in the far dome of the sky the larks were singing, and the laughing, barefoot peasant maids went by, driving on their sheep and tossing their bright cloaks to catch the eyes of our ogling serving-men. * * * * * I allowed Bari to go first to the audience, and he soon came out smiling, informing me that His Holiness was in excellent humor, having run down a notably tall stag that morning. “He gave me the abbey for my cousin almost before the words got out of my mouth!” he reported. And so after brief interval, the scraping and bowing gentleman-usher conducted me in, and I was again before the Pope of Christendom.