He turned in his chair, and glanced at the dial of a huge ticking clock behind him, and saw that the hands were close on the appointed hour of eleven.  His smile slowly disappeared, and vanished altogether in a heavy frown.  “A dangerous man!  I do not like his book—­it is written in melodramatic style, with heat and with enthusiasm, and will attract the vulgar.  He must be suppressed—­but how?”

He rose and paced the room slowly, his long white hands clasped behind his back, and the frown on his brows deepened;—­how suppress a man who had announced himself as free of every Church and Creed, and who was resolved to stand by the moral ethics of Christ only?  A man who desired nothing for himself, not even money;—­“But stop!” thought Gherardi,—­“that is absurd!  Every man wants money!  Every man must have it, and the more he has, the more he seeks.  There is no one in the world who cannot be bought or bribed!”

At that moment the green hangings of the door were lifted, and the Italian man-servant announced,—­

“Il Signor Aubri Lee!”

Gherardi, who in his pacing to and fro had reached the window, wheeled round abruptly and faced his entering visitor.  The light fell aslant upon his stately figure as he drew himself up to his full height, and greeted Leigh with a suavely condescending bow and smile, while Aubrey in turn glanced him up and down with a pleasurable consciousness of his intellectual appearance, and evident combative temperament.

“You are welcome, Mr. Leigh,” said Gherardi, speaking English with a fluency of which he was pardonably proud, “Your letter from Florence received my instant attention, and as you see, I have made it a point to receive you at once—­in spite of pressing business.  Yes,—­ in spite of pressing business!  I confess I have been curious to see the writer who has made himself so obnoxious to our dear friends and brothers, the English clergy!”

A smile that was brilliant, but which conveyed no meaning whatever, illumined his features; but for all reply to these words Aubrey simply bowed and remained silent.  Gherardi glanced at him sharply.  Was he intimidated already?—­overawed at being in the presence of one who was known to be a friend and confidant of the Pope?  No—­ there was nothing of fear or embarrassment in the composed attitude, proud manner, and reserved expression of this slim, muscular man, with the bright hair and keen eyes,—­and Gherardi dropped his tone of patronage for one of courtesy.

“Pray sit down!” he said, “I understand that you wish to obtain a private audience of the Holy Father.  That of course is impossible!”

Aubrey drew a chair slowly towards the desk where Gherardi had resumed his own usual seat, and raised his eyes with a curious look of half satirical questioning.

“Impossible!” he said, “And why?”

Gherardi almost laughed.

“Why?  My dear sir, is it necessary to ask?  Your name is sufficiently well-known! and—­I am sorry to tell you so,—­but it is quite as unpleasant at the Vatican as that of Gys Grandit!”