Leigh’s clear penetrating voice, artistically modulated to the perfectly musical expression of thought, was not without its usual effect, even on a mind so callous as that of Gherardi.  He moved uneasily in his chair,—­he was inwardly fuming with indignation, and for one moment was inclined to assume the melodramatic pose of the irate Churchman, and to make himself into the figure of an approved “stage” dignitary of religion, with out stretched arm, menacing eyes, and words that were as darts to wound and sting.  But looking under his eye lids at the cold, half satirical tranquillity of Aubrey’s pale clear-cut features, he felt that any attempt at “acting” his part would be seen through in a second by a man who was so terribly in earnest.  So with a benevolent and regretful air, he said,

“Yes!—­no doubt things appear to you as they do not appear to us.  The spirit of faith enables us to see through all unsatisfactory outward forms and ceremonies, to the actual divine mysteries which they symbolise;—­and heretics perceive incongruities, where we, by the grace of God, see nothing but harmony!  And though you, Mr. Leigh, receive the information with incredulity and a somewhat blameable indifference, it is a matter of rejoicing to us that Cardinal Bonpre has performed this miracle of healing at Rouen.  It would have raised him to a very high place indeed in the Holy Father’s estimation, had it not been for the strange mistake he has unfortunately made with respect to the Abbe Vergniaud.”

“One may cure a sick person then, but one must not pardon a sinner?” suggested Aubrey, “’For whether is it easier to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee;’ or ‘Arise and walk?’ The one is considered a miracle;—­the other a mistake!”

Gherardi’s cold eyes glittered.

“We will not go into the technicalities of the question,” he said frigidly, “We will return to the point from whence we diverged.  Your wish expressed in this letter,” and he drew one from a packet on the table and glanced it over in a business-like way, “was to obtain a private audience from the Pope.  I repeat that to a mere civilian and socialistic writer like yourself, that is impossible!”

Aubrey sat unmoved.

“I suppose if I were a prince of the blood-royal I should not be refused an audience?” he said.

Gherardi’s thick dark eyebrows went up with a movement of surprise at such an irrational remark.

“That would make a difference certainly,” he answered smiling, “The claims of diplomacy have to be considered!”

“If a prince of the blood-royal whose private life was a scandal to the world”—­went on Aubrey, “who was guilty of every vice known in the calendar,—­who was neither intelligent nor sympathetic,—­whose whole career was one of self and self-indulgence,—­I say if he were to seek a private audience of the man who is declared to be the representative of Christ in Christendom, he would obtain it!  On the other hand, if a man who had denied himself every personal gratification, and had sacrificed his whole life in working for his fellow men, and to the following of the teachings of the Gospel as far as it was possible,—­but who yet had got no further in world’s wealth than to be earning from his writings a few hundreds a year, he could not be received!  Monsignor, this may be diplomacy, but it is not Christianity!”