The Cardinal said no more, for just then a servant entered and announced that His Eminence’s carriage was in waiting.  Angela bending low once more before her uncle, kissed his apostolic ring, and said softly—­“To-morrow!”

And Manuel echoed the word, “To-morrow!” as she bade them both a smiling “addio” and left the apartment.  When she had gone, and he was left alone with his foundling, the Cardinal stood for a few minutes absorbed in silent meditation, mechanically gathering his robes about him.  After a pause of evident hesitancy and trouble, he approached the boy and gently laid a hand upon his shoulder.

“Manuel,” he said, “Do you understand whom it is that you are going to see?”

“Yes,” replied Manuel quickly, “The Head of the Church.  One who holds an office constituted by man long after Christ.  It was founded upon the name and memory of the Apostle Peter, who publicly denied all knowledge of His Master.  That is how I understand the person I am to see to-day!”

Cardinal Bonpre’s face was a study of varying expressions as he heard these words.

“My child, you must not say these things in the Pope’s presence!”

Manuel lifted his radiant eyes with a look of calm confidence.

“Dear friend, you must trust me!” he said, “They have sent for me, have they not, to this place you call the Vatican?  They desire to see me, and to question me.  That being so, whatever God bids me say, I will say; fearing nothing!”

A strong tremour shook the Cardinal’s nerves,—­he essayed to find words of wisdom and instruction, but somehow language failed him,—­ he felt blinded and strengthless, and warned by this impending sense of feebleness, made an instant effort to brace himself up and master the strange fainting that threatened to overwhelm him as it had frequently done before.  He succeeded, and without speaking again to Manuel, but only bending one earnest look upon him, he quitted his rooms and proceeded slowly down the great marble staircase of the Palazzo Sovrani,—­a staircase famous even in Rome for its architectural beauty—­Manuel stepping lightly at his side—­and reaching his carriage, entered it with his foundling, and was rapidly driven away.

Arrived at the Vatican, the largest palace in the world, which contains, so historians agree in saying, no less than eleven thousand different apartments with their courts and halls and corridors, they descended at the Portone di Bronzo,—­the Swiss Guard on duty saluting as the Cardinal passed in.  On they went into the vestibule, chilly and comfortless, of the Scala Pia;—­and so up the stone stairs to the Cortile do San Damaso, and thence towards the steps which lead to the Pope’s private apartments.  Another Guard met them here and likewise saluted,—­in fact, almost at every step of the way, and on every landing, guards were on duty, either standing motionless, or marching wearily up and down, the clank, clank of