But to the pure all things are pure, and Agnes thought only of the enthronement of all virtues, of all celestial charities and unworldly purities in that splendid ceremonial, and longed within herself to approach so near as to touch the hem of those wondrous and sacred garments.  It was to her enthusiastic imagination like the unclosing of celestial doors, where the kings and priests of an eternal and heavenly temple move to and fro in music, with the many-colored glories of rainbows and sunset clouds.  Her whole nature was wrought upon by the sights and sounds of that gorgeous worship,—­she seemed to burn and brighten like an altar-coal, her figure appeared to dilate, her eyes grew deeper and shone with a starry light, and the color of her cheeks flushed up with a vivid glow,—­nor was she aware how often eyes were turned upon her, nor how murmurs of admiration followed all her absorbed, unconscious movements. “Ecco!  Eccola!” was often repeated from mouth to mouth around her, but she heard it not.

When at last the ceremony was finished, the crowd rushed again out of the church to see the departure of various dignitaries.  There was a perfect whirl of dazzling equipages, and glittering lackeys, and prancing horses, crusted with gold, flaming in scarlet and purple, retinues of cardinals and princes and nobles and ambassadors all in one splendid confused jostle of noise and brightness.

Suddenly a servant in a gorgeous scarlet livery touched Agnes on the shoulder, and said, in a tone of authority,—­

“Young maiden, your presence is commanded.”

“Who commands it?” said Elsie, laying her hand on her grandchild’s shoulder fiercely.

“Are you mad?” whispered two or three women of the lower orders to Elsie at once; “don’t you know who that is?  Hush, for your life!”

“I shall go with you, Agnes,” said Elsie, resolutely.

“No, you will not,” said the attendant, insolently.  “This maiden is commanded, and none else.”

“He belongs to the Pope’s nephew,” whispered a voice in Elsie’s ear.  “You had better have your tongue torn out than say another word.”  Whereupon, Elsie found herself actually borne backward by three or four stout women.

Agnes looked round and smiled on her,—­a smile full of innocent trust,—­and then, turning, followed the servant into the finest of the equipages, where she was lost to view.

Elsie was almost wild with fear and impotent rage; but a low, impressive voice now spoke in her ear.  It came from the white figure which had followed them in the morning.

“Listen,” it said, “and be quiet; don’t turn your head, but hear what I tell you.  Your child is followed by those who will save her.  Go your ways whence you came.  Wait till the hour after the Ave Maria, then come to the Porta San Sebastiano, and all will be well.”

When Elsie turned to look she saw no one, but caught a distant glimpse of a white figure vanishing in the crowd.