“It was rumored in Rome,” said the younger Giustinian, “that the learned Bishop Baronious, in the last conclave, by his persistence found means to save the Consistory from the election by ‘adoration’ of another candidate whose life would bear no scrutiny and who never darkened the doors of his own cathedral!  By this election the Church hath verily been spared a scandal.”

“Therefore, let it be known,” said Fra Paolo, with deep gravity, “lest the nearness of such a scandal should breed confusion—­and I speak from knowledge, having been much in Rome—­we have now a Pope blameless in life; in duty to his Church most faithful and exemplary and concerned with her welfare, as to himself it seemeth; of an unbending conscience and a will most absolute; moreover, of marvelous reading in certain doctrinal writings which seem to him the only books of worth, and with the training of a lawyer wherewith to assert them.  This is the man with whom we have to contend.”

“Are there no faults?” thundered Giustinian Giustiniani, while the others listened disconcerted.  “A soldier seeks for weak spots in the armor.”

“I know him,” said Leonardo Donato, “and there is one fault.  It limits his power to achieve; it increases his absolutism.  It is near-sightedness—­smallness of vision.”

“Draw him strongly,” said Giustinian, in a tone of concentrated wrath.  “Let us measure our foe before we meet.”

“There are no books Borghese hath not read; there is no point of view but that which he doth teach, no appeal from the law as he interpreteth it. It is a fault of unity.  One power—­the Church; one duty—­its aggrandizement; one prince—­temporal and spiritual alike; one unvarying obedience.  All is adjusted to one centre; it is the simplification of life!”

There was an ominous silence and an evident wish to change the theme, and the company readjusted itself by twos and threes.  The Senator Morosini turned graciously to Marcantonio.  “It hath been told in Venice,” he said, “that the Lady Marina was received in Rome with marks of very special favor.”

“The introduction of our Reverend Father Paolo had preceded her,” the young secretary answered lightly, bowing in the direction of the friar, who sat apparently lost in thought.  But Morosini repeated Marcantonio’s speech with some amusement, for the scholarly friar had never been known to have a friend among the women—­old or young.

“I do not understand,” he said, with no perception of any humor in the situation.

“It was the gift of the Reverend Father Paolo to the chapel of the Servi,” Marcantonio explained.  “The Madonna del Sorriso was well known in Rome.”

“Ah, I recall now the face of your lady, though I have not known her,” the friar responded courteously, yet he hesitated a moment before accepting the seat which the secretary rose to offer him.  “If it is the face which the Veronese hath painted, her spirit must be fair.  It should make a home holy,” he added, after a moment’s pause.