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and the Pope stood erect, Himself a pallor in the heart of light, with spectral folds of silk dripping from His shoulders, His hands swathed in them, and His down-bent head hidden by the silver-rayed monstrance and That which it bore.... ... Qui vitam sine termino Nobis donet in patria .... ... They were moving now, and the world of life swung with them; of so much was he aware.
After a lengthened silence, for she had begun to weep afresh, César, quite embarrassed, went on: "Well, then, Mam'zelle Donet I am going. When would you wish to talk this over with me?" She exclaimed: "Oh! no, don't go! don't go. Don't leave me all alone with Emile. I would die of grief. I have no longer anyone, anyone but my child. Oh! what wretchedness, what wretchedness. Mousieur César! Stop!
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