“I looked up and noticed the woman maliciously smiling—­if it had been in the days of the inquisition, I would have sent her to the faggots, for she was a hell-hag.  The child had fallen back in his cradle as if the effort of holding my attention had exhausted him.  Then it struck me that there was something unholy about this affair, and I resolutely strode to the crib and seized the baby.

“‘What changeling is this?’ I demanded in a loud voice, for the being that twisted in my grip was two or two hundred years old.

“‘Lay him down, you monster!’ clamoured the nurse, as I held the squirming bundle by both hands.  It was a task—­and I’m very strong.  A superhuman strength waged against my muscles; but I was an old football half-back at the university, so I conquered the poor little devil.  It moaned like a querulous old man; the nurse, throwing her weight upon me, forced me to let go my hold.  As I did so the baby turned on its face, its dainty robe split wide open, and to my horror I saw on its back, between its angelically white shoulders, burnt in as if by branding irons, the crucifix—­and upside down!”

I shuddered.  I knew.  He lowered his voice and spoke in detached phrases.

“It was—­oh! that I live to say it—­it was the dreaded Antichrist—­yes, this Russian baby—­it was predicted that he would be born in Russia—­I trembled so that my robes waved in an invisible wind.  The reversed cross—­the mark of the beast—­the sign by which we are to know the Human Satan—­the last opponent of Christianity.  I confess that I was discomposed at the sight of this little fiend, for it meant that the red star, the baleful star of the north, would rise in the black heavens and bloody war spread among the nations of the earth.  It also meant that doomsday was not far off, and, good Christian as I believe myself to be, a shiver ran down my spine at the idea of Gabriel’s trump and the resurrection of the dead.  Yes, I shan’t deny it—­so material are the sons of men, I among them!  And the very thought of Judgment Day and its blasting horrors withered my heart.  Still something had to be done, prophecy or no prophecy.  To fulfil the letter of the law this infernal visitor was let loose from hell.  There was one way, so I grasped—­”

“Great God, Monsignor, you didn’t strangle the demon?” I cried.

“No, no—­something better.  I rushed over to a marble wash-basin and seized a ewer of water, and, going back to the crib, despite the frantic remonstrances of the old sorceress, I baptized the Antichrist in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.  Before my eyes I saw the inverted cross vanish.  Then I soundly spanked the presumptuous youngster and, running down the staircase, I sought the prince and said to him:—­

“‘Your boy is now a Roman, not a Greek Catholic.  We are quits!’”