* * * * * Toward five o’clock that evening every carriage in the city seemed to be bent for the Ponte Sant’ Angelo. A casual spectator would never have chosen a religious function as the end of all this confusion. In the tangle of narrow streets beyond the bridge the way was almost blocked, and such progress as was possible was made at a snail’s pace. The Royston party, in two carriages, not unnaturally lost each other. The carriage containing Marcia, Margaret, and Paul, getting into the jam in the narrow Borgo Nuovo, arrived in the piazza of St. Peter’s with wheels locked with a cardinal’s coach. The cardinal’s coachman and theirs exchanged an unclerical opinion of each other’s ability as drivers. The cardinal advanced his head from the window with a mildly startled air of reproof, and the Americans laughed gaily at the situation. After a moment of scrutiny the cardinal smiled back, and the four disembarked and set out on foot across the piazza, leaving the men to sever the difficulty at their leisure. He proved an unexpectedly cordial person, and when they parted on the broad steps he held out of his hand with a friendly smile and after a moment of perplexed hesitation the three gravely shook it in turn. ‘Do you think we ought to have kissed it?’ Marcia inquired. ‘I would have done it, only I didn’t know how.’ Paul laughed. ‘He knew we weren’t of the true faith. No right-minded Catholic would laugh at nearly spilling a cardinal in the street.’ They stood aside by the central door looking for Mrs. Royston and Eleanor and watching the crowd surge past. Paul was quite insistent that they should go in without the others, but Marcia was equally insistent that they wait. She had an intuitive feeling that there was safety in numbers. For a wonder they presently espied Mrs. Royston bearing down upon them, a small camp-stool clutched to her portly bosom, and Eleanor panting along behind, a camp-stool in either hand. Mrs. Royston caught sight of them with an expression of relief. ‘My dears, I was afraid I had lost you,’ she gasped. ‘We remembered, just as we got to the bridge, that we hadn’t brought any chairs, and so we went back for them. Paul, you should have thought of them yourself. I suppose we’d better hurry in and get a good place.’ Paul patiently possessed himself of the chairs and followed the ladies, with a glance at Marcia which seemed to say, ‘Is there this day living a more exemplary nephew and gentleman than I?’