He knew all now; wireless messages had streamed in hour after hour during the flight across the Atlantic.  At Naples, where the volor had first touched land, the papers already mentioned full and exhaustive accounts of the outbreak, with the latest reports; and by the time that he reached Rome he was as well informed of the real facts of the case as were any who were not in the inner circle of those who knew.

The Swiss guard presented his fantastic halberd, as he passed in panting after his climb; a man in scarlet livery took his hat and cloak; another preceded him through the first anteroom, where an ecclesiastic received him; and with this priest he passed on through the second and third rooms up to the door of the inner chamber.  The priest pushed the door open for him and he went in alone; the door closed noiselessly behind him.  The room was the same as that which he remembered, all gold and red damask, lighted from the roof, with the great brass-inlaid writing table at the farther end, and the broad settee against the right-hand wall, but it seemed to him in his apprehensiveness that the solemnity was greater and the hushed silence even deeper.  Two figures sat side by side on the settee, each in the scarlet ferraiuola of ceremony.  One, Cardinal Bellairs, looked up at him and nodded, even smiling a little; the other stood up and bowed slightly, before extending his hand to be kissed.  This second figure was a great personality—­Italian by birth, an extraordinary linguist, a very largely made man, both stout and tall, with a head of thick and perfectly white hair.  He had been a “Papabile” at the last election; and, it was thought, was certain of the papacy some day, even though it was unusual that a Secretary of State should succeed.  He had a large, well-cut face, rather yellowish in colour, with very bright, half-veiled black eyes.

Monsignor kissed the ring without genuflecting, as the custom was in the Vatican, and sat down on the chair indicated.

No one spoke for a moment.

“How much have you heard, Monsignor?” asked Cardinal
Bellairs abruptly.

“I have heard that the Socialists have seized Berlin and the Emperor; that the city is fortified; that there have been two massacres; and that the Emperor’s life is threatened unless the Powers grant all the terms asked within . . . within four days from now.”

“Have you heard of the death of Prince Otteone?”

“No, your Eminence.”

“Prince Otteone was executed last night,” said the Cardinal simply.  “He begged to go as the representative of the Holy Father to treat for terms.  They said they were not there to treat, but to grant terms.  And they say that they will do the same for every envoy who does not bring a message of complete submission.  That will be known everywhere by midday.”

Again there was silence.  The Cardinal Secretary glanced from one face to the other, as if hesitating.  Monsignor made no attempt to speak.  He knew that was not his business.