_Per carita_, baroness, (I had almost called you Mademoiselle!) Ah! Ah! Ah! But the _baron_, your husband, he would protest. Ah! ah! quite true, you have a little belly which commences to become arrogant. They do their work well, I see, in France. Ah! if that fine country would only become religious again, the population decimated by anti-clericalism would at once, (yes, _baroness_) the population would increase considerably. Ah! dear Christ! how well she listens, the _arrogantine_, when one talks seriously, yes, _baroness_, you have the air of an _arrogantine._ Ah! ah! ah! so, you want to see the Pope. Ah! ah! ah! the benediction of a mere cardinal like me will not do. Ah! ah! tut-tut, I understand quite well. Ah! ah! I shall try to obtain an audience for you. Oh! no need to thank me, you can let my hand go. How well she kisses, the _arrogantine_, oh! Come here, again, I want you to carry away with you a little souvenir of me. "There! a chain, with the medal of the holy house of Lorette. Let me put it about your neck... Now that you have the medal you must promise me never to part with it. There, there, there! Come here so that I can kiss you on the forehead. Come, come, can she be afraid of me, the little _arrogantine?_ Done! Now tell me why you laugh?... Nothing! Well! Now, one bit of advice! When you go to the Vatican, I warn you not to use so much odour, I mean so much perfume. Goodbye, _arrogantine._ Come and see me again. My compliments to _the baron._" * * * It was thus, that, thanks to Cardinal Ricottino, who had been to Paris as _nuncio_, Macarée obtained an audience with the Pope. She went to the Vatican dressed in her beautiful armorial robe. The baron des Ygrées, in full dress, accompanied her. He admired much the bearing of the royal guards, and the Swiss mercenaries, inclined to drunkenness and brawling, seemed fine devils to him. He found occasion to whisper into his wife's ear something about one of his ancestors who was a cardinal under Louis XIII... * * * The couple returned to the hotel deeply moved and almost prostrated by the benediction of the Pope. They undressed chastely, and in bed, they spoke for a long time about the pontiff, the whitened head of the old church, a pressed lily, the snow which Catholics think eternal. "My dear wife," said François des Ygrées finally, "I esteem you to adoration, and I love the child whom the Pope has blessed with all my heart. May he come, the blessed infant, but I want him to be born in France." "François," said Macarée, "I have never yet been to Monte-Carlo. Let us go there! I needn't lose our whole pile. We are not millionaires, but I am sure that we shall be lucky in Monte-Carlo." "Damn! damn! damn!" swore François, "Macarée, you make me see red." "Ho, there," cried Macarée, "you gave me a kick, you----" "I note with pleasure, Macarée," said François des Ygrées waggishly, recovering his good humor, "that you do not forget that I am your husband."