"Now Your Holiness is thinking that I arrogate to myself a miraculous
clairvoyance. No. It I is something which I see in your face, which I
hear in your voice; poor, common, man that I am!"
"Perhaps you know who has recently visited me?" the Pope exclaimed.
He had summoned to Rome the parish priest of Jenne, and had questioned
him concerning Benedetto. The priest, finding a Pope to his liking, a
Pope who differed vastly from those two zealots who had intimidated him
at Jenne, had seized the opportunity of thus easily making his peace
with his own conscience, and had shown his remorse by praising and
re-praising. Benedetto knew naught of this.
"No," he answered, "I do not know."
The Pontiff was silent; but his face, his hands, his whole person
betrayed lively anxiety. Presently he leaned back in his great chair,
let his head sink upon his breast, stretched out his arms, and rested
his hands, side by side, on the little table. He was reflecting.
While he reflected, sitting motionless there, his eyes staring into
space, the flame of the tiny petroleum lamp rose, red and smoky, in the
tube.
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