“Suddenly there was a shout that swept over the whole square:  ’The boys!  The children!  Let’s have the children!’”

“Then, as if every one were following some concerted plan of action, all the children in the square were lifted up above the crowd, and the men and women who carried them fought a way through to the front of the Vatican.  The bigger boys made their own way.  Bands of ten and twenty of them, holding each other by the hand, wriggled between people’s legs; hundreds of children, some on their own feet, some carried, some pushed, a whole world of little folk, hidden till then in the crowd, suddenly swarmed in one corner of the square; and how the women screamed!  ’Take care!—­Make room!—­Look out for my child!’”

“Presently there was another shout:  ‘The women now!  The women!’ and another shuffling up and settling down of the crowd.  Then a third shout, louder than any of the others:  ‘The army!  The troops!’ this time.  Then came the most indescribable agitation, but underneath it all a sense of order and rapidity; none of the ordinary confusion and delay; every one helped, made way, co-operated; the whole immense multitude seemed to be under orders.  Gradually the disturbance ceased, the noise diminished, the gesticulation subsided; and looking about one saw that all the soldiers, women, and children in the crowd had disappeared as if by magic.

“There they all stood, on the right side of the square, divided into three great battalions that extended from the door of St. Peter’s to the centre of the colonnade, all facing the Vatican, packed together and motionless.  The crowd burst into frantic applause.”

“But the Vatican?” the whole family cried out for the third time.

“Shut up and silent as a convent; but wait.  Suddenly the applause ceased, and every head turned backward, whispering:  ‘Silence!’ The whisper travelled across the square and down the length of the two streets leading to it; gradually the sound died out, and the crowd became absolutely, incredibly silent:  it was supernatural.  All at once, in the midst of this silence, we heard a faint mysterious chirping; a vague, diffused sound of voices, that seemed to come from overhead.  Gradually it grew louder, and there was an uncertain gathering of shrill, discordant tones, now close by, now far off, but growing steadier and more harmonious, until at length it was blent in a single tremulous silvery chant that soared above us like the singing of a choir of angels.  Thousands of children were singing the hymn to Pius IX.—­the hymn of forty-seven.”

“Oh, God—­oh, God!” cried the mother and daughters, with clasped hands.

“That song re-echoed in every heart; it touched something deep down and tender in every one of us.  A thrill ran through the crowd; there was a wild waving of arms and hands, as though to take the place of speech; but the only sound was a confused murmur.