And now came sweeping up the grand procession, brilliant with scarlet and gold, waving with plumes, sparkling with gems,—­it seemed as if earth had been ransacked and human invention taxed to express the ultimatum of all that could dazzle and bewilder,—­and, with a rustle like that of ripe grain before a swaying wind, all the multitude went down on their knees as the cortege passed.  Agnes knelt, too, with clasped hands, adoring the sacred vision enshrined in her soul; and as she knelt with upraised eyes, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm, her beauty attracted the attention of more than one in the procession.

“There is the model which our master has been looking for,” said a young and handsome man in a rich dress of black velvet, who, by his costume, appeared to hold the rank of first chamberlain in the Papal suite.

The young man to whom he spoke gave a bold glance at Agnes and answered,—­

“Pretty little rogue, how well she does the saint!”

“One can see, that, with judicious arrangement, she might make a nymph as well as a saint,” said the first speaker.

“A Daphne, for example,” said the other, laughing.

“And she wouldn’t turn into a laurel, either,” said the first.  “Well, we must keep our eye on her.”  And as they were passing into the church-door, he beckoned to a servant in waiting and whispered something, indicating Agnes with a backward movement of his hand.

The servant, after this, kept cautiously within observing distance of her, as she with the crowd pressed into the church to assist at the devotions.

Long and dazzling were those ceremonies, when, raised on high like an enthroned God, Pope Alexander VI. received the homage of bended knee from the ambassadors of every Christian nation, from heads of all ecclesiastical orders, and from generals and chiefs and princes and nobles, who, robed and plumed and gemmed in all the brightest and proudest that earth could give, bowed the knee humbly and kissed his foot in return for the palm-branch which he presented.  Meanwhile, voices of invisible singers chanted the simple event which all this splendor was commemorating,—­how of old Jesus came into Jerusalem meek and lowly, riding on an ass,—­how His disciples cast their garments in the way, and the multitude took branches of palm-trees to come forth and meet Him,—­how He was seized, tried, condemned to a cruel death,—­and the crowd, with dazzled and wondering eyes following the gorgeous ceremonial, reflected little how great was the satire of the contrast, how different the coming of that meek and lowly One to suffer and to die from this triumphant display of worldly-pomp and splendor in His professed representative.