“I shall not attempt, Madam, to arouse your pity for the sufferings of a captive. Women’s hearts are, I know, always moved by misfortune. It is to your intelligence that I appeal, Countess, and I beg you to consider the state of miserable confusion into which the disappearance of our spiritual leader plunged us Christians.” A slight shade passed over the Countess’s pale brow. “No Pope is a frightful thing, but--God save us--a false Pope is more frightful still. For the Lodge, in order to cover up its crime--nay, more, in the hopes of inducing the Church to compromise herself fatally--the Lodge, I say, has installed on the pontifical throne, in the place of Leo XIII, some cat’s-paw or other of the Quirinal’s, some vile impostor! And it is to him that we must pretend submission so as not to injure the real one--and oh! shame upon shame! it was to him that all Christendom bowed down at the Jubilee!” At these words the handkerchief he was wringing in his hands tore across. “The first act of the false Pope was that too famous encyclical--the encyclical to France--at the thought of which the heart of every Frenchman worthy of the name still bleeds. Yes, yes, Madam, I know how your great lady’s generous heart must have suffered at hearing Holy Church deny the holy cause of royalty, and the Vatican such is the fact--give its approval to the Republic. Alas! Be comforted, Madam! You were right in your amazement. Be comforted, Madame la Comtesse. But think of the sufferings of the Holy Father in his captivity at hearing the cat’s-paw--the impostor proclaim him a Republican!” Then, flinging himself back with a laugh that was half a sob: “And what did you think, Comtesse de Saint-Prix, what did you think, when as a corollary to that cruel encyclical our Holy Father granted an audience to the editor of the _Petit Journal_! You realize the impossibility of such a thing. Your generous heart has already cried aloud to you that it is false!” “But,” exclaimed the Countess, no longer able to contain herself, “it must be cried aloud to the whole world!” “No, Madam! It must be kept silent!” thundered the abbé, towering formidably above her. “It must first be kept silent; we must keep silent so as to be able to act.” Then apologetically, with a voice turned suddenly piteous: “You see I am speaking to you as if you were a man.” “Quite right, Monsieur l’abbé. To act, you said. Quick! What have you decided on?”