How did you
come?"
The singularly sweet face, framed in grey hair, wore an expression of
astonishment. The voice, with its southern ring, betrayed emotion:
Benedetto rose, and answered:
"From the bronze portal as far as a spot which I cannot locate, I was
accompanied by the priest who was here with Your Holiness; from thence I
came alone."
"Were you familiar with the Vatican? Did they tell you, you would find
me here?"
When Benedetto had answered that, years ago, he had paid a single
visit to the museums of the Vatican, the Logge, and the Gallery of
Inscriptions; that on that occasion he had not reached the Logge from
the courtyard of San Damaso; that he had had no idea where he should
find the Sovereign Pontiff, the Pope was silent for a moment; absorbed
in thought. Presently he said, tenderly, affectionately, pointing to a
chair opposite him:
"Be seated, my son."
Had Benedetto not been absorbed in contemplation of the Pope's ascetic
and gentle face, he would have looked about him not without surprise,
while his august interlocutor was engaged in gathering together some
papers which were scattered upon the little table.
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