The Countess, firmly determined neither to open her lips nor change her attitude, nor even her expression, before getting to the very roots of the secret, listened imperturbably to the bogus priest, whose assurance was gradually becoming more and more confident. He had risen and begun striding up and down. To make his explanations clearer, he traced the affair back--not exactly to its sources (since the conflict between the Church and the Lodge--inherent in their very essence--may be said to date from all time) but to certain incidents in which their hostility had openly declared itself. He first of all begged the Countess to remember that in December,’92, the Pope had published two letters, addressed, one to the Italian people, and the other more particularly to the bishops, warning Catholics against the machinations of the freemasons; then, as the Countess’s memory failed her, he was obliged to go further back and recall the erection of Giordano Bruno’s statue, which had been planned and presided over by Crispi, behind whom the Lodge had still then concealed itself. He told of Crispi’s fury that the Pope should have repulsed his advances, should have refused to negotiate with him--and in this instance, what could negotiation mean but submission? He traced the history of that tragic day and told how the two camps had taken up their positions: how the freemasons had at last lifted their mask, and--while the whole diplomatic corps accredited to the Holy See were calling at the Vatican and thus showing their contempt for Crispi and their veneration for the Holy Father in his grievous affliction--how the Lodge, flags flying and bands playing, had acclaimed the illustrious blasphemer in the Campo dei Fiori, on the spot where the insulting and idolatrous effigy had been raised. “In the consistory which followed shortly after, on June 30, 1889,” he continued (he was still standing, leaning now across the table, his arms in front of him, his face bent down towards the Countess), “Leo XIII gave vent to his vehement indignation. His protestations were heard by the entire universe, and all Christendom shuddered to hear him speak of leaving Rome! Leaving Rome! Those were my words!... All this, Madame la Comtesse, you know already--you grieved for it--you remember it--as well as I.” He again began his pacing to and fro. “At last Crispi fell from power. Would the Church be able to breathe again? In December, 1892, you remember, the Pope wrote those two letters. Madam....” He sat down again abruptly, drew his arm-chair nearer to the sofa, and, seizing the Countess’s arm: “A month later the Pope was imprisoned!” As the Countess remained obstinately impassive, the canon let go her arm and continued in a calmer tone: