The Bill was passed in the Chamber of Deputies on March 2, 1855, by 170 ayes against 36 noes; the majority, so much larger than the Government could usually command, showed that it rested on undoubted popular support.  It was then sent up to the Senate, but while it was being discussed there, an incident occurred which nearly caused a political convulsion.  The Archbishop of Novara and the Bishop of Mondovi wrote to the king promising that if the Bill were withdrawn, the Church in Piedmont would make up the sum of 92,841,230 frs., which the Government expected to gain by the suppressions.  The king was delighted with the proposal, not perceiving the hopelessness of getting it approved by the Chamber of Deputies, which had already passed the measure, and the impossibility of settling the matter “out of court” without parliamentary sanction.  He invited Cavour to accede, and on his refusal, he accepted the resignation of the Ministry.  Personally the king had always a certain sense of relief in parting with Cavour.  He thought now that he could get on without him, but he was to be undeceived.  While he was endeavouring to find some one to undertake the formation of a new cabinet, the country became agitated as it had not been since the stormy year of revolution.  Angry crowds gathered in Piazza Castello, within a few yards of the royal palace.  “One of these days,” Victor Emmanuel said impatiently to his trusted valet, Cinzano, “I’ll make an end of these demonstrations,” to which the descendant of Gil Blas is reported to have replied as he looked out of window:  “And if they made an end of Us?” The whole population woke up to the fact that surrender on this point involved surrender along all the line.  The king, however, to whom the compromise appeared in the light of peace with the dead and with the living, with the Superga and with the Vatican, was very unwilling to yield.  At the same time no one could be found to form a ministry.  In this dangerous crisis, Massimo d’Azeglio wrote a letter to his sovereign which is believed to have been what convinced him.  Recalling the Spanish royal personage whom courtiers let burn to death sooner than deviate from the motto, ne touchez pas la Reine, D’Azeglio protested that if he was to risk his head, or totally to lose the king’s favour, he would think himself the vilest of mankind if he did not write the words which he had not been permitted to speak.  As an old and faithful servant, who had never thought but of his king’s welfare and the good of the country, he conjured him with tears in his eyes, and kneeling at his feet, to go no further on the path he was entering.  A monkish intrigue had succeeded in breaking up the work of his reign, agitating the country, shaking the constitution and obscuring the royal name for good faith.  There was not a moment to lose; similar intrigues had led the House of Bourbon and the House of Stuart to their destruction.  Let the king take heed while there was time!  It was long before Victor Emmanuel quite forgave his old friend, but the warning voice was not raised in vain.