“In the course of my waiting, I had told my story to a young Italian gentleman, the nephew of a monseigneur; a monseigneur being next in rank to a cardinal.  He assured me that permission would never be obtained by our minister.

“After a fortnight’s waiting I received a permit, written on parchment, and signed by Cardinal Antonelli.

“When the young Italian next called, I held the parchment up in triumph, and boasted that Minister ——­ had at length moved in the matter.  The young man coolly replied, ’Yes, I spoke to my uncle last evening, and asked him to urge the matter with Cardinal Antonelli; but for that it would never have come!’ There had been ‘red tape,’ and I had not seen it.

“At the same time that the formal missive was sent to me, a similar one was sent to Father Secchi, authorizing him to receive me.  The Father called at once to make the arrangements for my visit.  I made the most natural mistake!  I supposed that the doors which opened to one woman, opened to all, and I asked to take with me my Italian servant, a quick-witted and bright-eyed woman, who had escorted me to and from social parties in the evening, and who had learned in these walks the names of the stars, receiving them from me in English, and giving back to me the sweet Italian words; and who had come to think herself quite an astronomer.  Father Secchi refused at once.  He said I was to meet him at the Church of St. Ignasio at one and a half hours before Ave Marie, and he would conduct me through the church into the observatory.  My servant might come into the church with me.  The Ave Marie bell rings half an hour after sunset.

“At the appointed time, the next fine day,—­and all days seem to be fine,—­we set out on our mission.

“When we entered the church we saw, far in the distance, Father Secchi, standing just behind a pillar.  He slipped out a little way, as much as to say, ‘I await you,’ but did not come forward to meet us; so the woman and I passed along through the rows of kneeling worshippers, by the strolling students, and past the lounging tourists—­who, guide-book in hand, are seen in every foreign church—­until we came to the standpoint from which the Father had been watching us.

“Then the Italian woman put up a petition, not one word of which I could understand, but the gestures and the pointing showed that she begged to go on and enter the monastery and see the observatory.  Father Secchi said, ‘No, the Holy Father gave permission to one only,’ and alone I entered the monastery walls.

“Through long halls, up winding staircases, occasionally stopped by some priest who touched his broad hat and asked ‘Parlate Italiano?’ occasionally passed by students, often stopped by pictures on the walls,—­once to be introduced to a professor; then through the library of the monastery, full of manuscripts on which monks had worked away their lives; then through the astronomical library, where young astronomers were working away theirs, we reached at length the dome and the telescope.