“I cannot think of any, Eminence,” answered the good priest, after a moment’s pause.

“Very well.  We are alone here.  The case of conscience you have laid before me is a very extraordinary one.  I do not wish to know whether it has actually come before you in confession.  But if it has,—­or if it should,—­I should wish you to be in a position to help that poor man and set his life straight, by the grace of God, without injuring him, and, above all, without injuring any of those persons to whom he has administered the sacraments.  I have known you a long time, Don Matteo, and I can trust you to make no use of any power I give you, before the world.  I have the power and the right to consecrate a bishop any priest whom I think a fit person.  Kneel down here, say the ‘Confiteor,’ and I will lay my hands on you.  You could then give the penitent absolution and ordain him a priest privately.”

Don Matteo started in utmost surprise, and hesitated an instant.

“Kneel down,” said the cardinal.  “I take this upon myself.”

The priest knelt, and the solemn words sounded low in the quiet little room, as the archbishop laid his hands upon Don Matteo’s grey head.  When the latter rose, he kissed the cardinal’s ring, trembling a little, for it had all been very unexpected.  The cardinal embraced him in the ecclesiastical fashion, and then, to his further amazement, drew off his episcopal ring and slipped it upon Don Matteo’s finger, took his own bishop’s cross and chain from his neck and hung it about Don Matteo’s neck.

“Keep them both in memory of this morning,” said the prelate.  “But hide the chain and the cross under your cassock, for people need not see that you are a bishop, when you sit among the canons in church.  You know it, I know it, your penitent must know it if the case is a real one, and the Pope shall know it—­but no one else living need ever guess it.  Will you kindly unlock the doors?  Thank you.  We will not mention this occurrence again, if we can help it.  Good morning, Don Matteo—­good morning, my friend.”

When Don Matteo was in the street again, he stood still and passed his hand over his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts.  His bishop’s ring touched his forehead, and he realized that it was all true.  He had not been half an hour in the archbishop’s palace, and when he reached his own door, he had not been absent an hour from the house.

He found Don Teodoro in the same room and still in the same chair, into which he had dropped exhausted when Don Matteo had gone out, his head sunk on his breast, his hands clasped despairingly on his knees.  As the door opened, he looked up with scared eyes, and rose.

“Courage!” exclaimed Don Matteo, patting his shoulder just as he had done before going out.  “I have seen his Eminence.”

Don Teodoro looked at him in mute and resigned expectation, and wondered at his cheerful face.  But his friend made him sit down again, and told him all that had taken place, and then, before Don Teodoro could recover his astonishment and emotion, he found himself kneeling on the floor and heard the words of absolution spoken softly over him.  A moment later he felt upon his head the laying of hands and heard those still more solemn words pronounced over him, which, he had never hoped to hear said for himself.