"Rise," said the Holy Father. "Utter freely what the Spirit shall
dictate."
Benedetto did not rise.
"Forgive me," he said, "my message is to the Pontiff alone, and here I
am not heard by the Pontiff only."
The Pope started, and gave him a questioning glance, full of severity.
Benedetto, looking towards a door behind the Pope, raised his eyebrows,
and slightly lifted his chin.
His Holiness seized a silver bell which stood on the table, commanded
Benedetto by a gesture to rise, and then rang the bell. The same priest
as before appeared at the door of the Gallery. The Pope ordered him to
summon Don Teofilo to the Gallery; Don Teofilo was the faithful valet
whom he had brought with him from his archbishopric in the South. Upon
his arrival the priest himself was to await His Holiness in the halls
of the Library. "You will pass through this room, on your way back," he
said.
Several minutes elapsed. They awaited the priest's return in silence.
The Pontiff, lost in thought, never raised his eyes from the little
table. Benedetto, standing, kept his eyes closed.
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