“On the contrary, my son,” answered Father Anselm, “we are bringing you salvation. As for your material needs, take no thought for them. The Church will provide. I have dwelt at length upon your case to Cardinal Pazzi, who is going to speak to Rampolla about it. I may tell you, moreover, that the Holy Father himself is informed of your recantation. The Church understands what you have sacrificed for her sake, and will undertake that you do not suffer. Don’t you think, though, that upon this occasion you have over-estimated” (and he smiled) “the value of the freemasons’ influence? Not but what I know well enough that they must be reckoned with only too seriously. Never mind! Have you calculated the amount that their hostility may cost you? Tell it me roughly” (he raised his left forefinger to his nose with good-humoured slyness) “and fear nothing.” Ten days after the celebration of the Jubilee, Anthime’s recantation took place in the Gesù, attended by every circumstance of excessive pomp. It is not for me to relate this ceremony, which was described in all the Italian papers of the time. Father T., the Jesuit General’s socius, pronounced one of his most remarkable orations on this occasion. “The freemason’s sick and tormented soul had doubtless come near to madness and the very extremity of his hatred had foreboded the coming of Love.” The preacher recalled Saul of Tarsus and pointed out that Anthime’s act of iconoclasm showed a surprising analogy to the stoning of St. Stephen. The reverend father’s eloquence swelled and rolled through the aisle, as the thronging surges of the tide roll through the vaults of some sounding cavern, and Anthime thought the while of his niece’s childish treble, and in his secret heart he thanked her for having called down upon her infidel uncle’s sins the merciful attention of her whom henceforth he would serve alone. From that day onwards, Anthime, absorbed by more elevated preoccupations, scarcely noticed the noise that was made about his name. Julius de Baraglioul suffered in his stead and never opened a paper without a beating heart. The first enthusiasm of the orthodox press was answered by the vituperation of the liberal organs. An important article in the _Osservatore_--“A New Victory for the Church”--was met by a diatribe in the _Tempo Felice_--“Another Fool.” Finally the _Dépeche de Toulouse_ headed Anthime’s usual page, which he had sent in the day before his cure, with a few gibing introductory remarks. Julius, in his brother-in-law’s name, wrote a short, dignified letter in reply, to inform the _Dépeche_ that it need no longer consider “the convert” as one of its contributors. The _Zukunft_ was beforehand with Anthime and politely thanked him for his services, intimating that there would be no further use for them. He accepted these blows with that serenity of countenance which is the mark of the truly devout soul. “Fortunately the columns of the _Correspondant_ will be open to you,” snarled Julius.