Roma's spirits were rising every minute, and her nervousness was fading
away. Since things had fallen out so, she could take advantage of her
opportunities. She would tell the Pope everything, and he would advise
with her and counsel her. She would speak about David Rossi, and the
Pope would tell her what to do.
The great clock of the Basilica was striking ten with a solemn boom as
the carriage rattled over the stones of the Piazza of St. Peter's--wet
with the play of the fountains and bright with the rainbows made by the
sun.
They alighted at the bronze gate, ascended the grand staircase, crossed
a courtyard, passed through many gorgeous chambers, and arrived finally
at an apartment hung with tapestries and occupied by a Noble Guard, who
wore a brass helmet and held a drawn sword. The next room was the throne
room, and beyond it were the Pope's private apartments.
A chaplain of the Pope's household came to say that by request of Father
Pifferi the lady was to step into an anteroom; and Roma followed him
into a small adjoining chamber, carpeted with cocoanut matting and
furnished with a marble-topped table and two wooden chest-seats, bearing
the papal arms. The little room opened on to a corridor overlooking a
courtyard, a secret way to the Pope's private rooms, and it had a door
to the throne room also.
"The Father will be here presently," said the chaplain, "and His
Holiness will not be long."
Roma, who was feeling some natural tremors, tried to reassure herself by
asking questions about the Pope. The chaplain's face began to gleam. He
was a little man, with round red cheeks and pale grey eyes, and the
usual tone of his voice was a hushed and reverent whisper.
"Faint? Yes, ladies do faint sometimes--often, I may say--and they
nearly always cry. But the Holy Father is so gentle, so sweet."
The door to the throne room opened and there was a gleam of violet and
an indistinct buzz of voices. The chaplain disappeared, and at the next
moment a man in the dress of a waiter came from the corridor carrying a
silver soup dish.
"You're the lady the Holy Father sent for?"
Roma smiled and assented.
"I'm Cortis--Gaetano Cortis--the Pope's valet, you know--and of course I
hear everything."
Roma smiled again and bowed.
"I bring the Holy Father a plate of soup every morning at ten, but I'm
afraid it is going to get cold this morning."
"Will he be angry?"
"Angry? He's an angel, and couldn't be angry with any one."