"But all this, young Gentles you will please to receive, not as delivered by the Pope ex cathedrâ, but uttered carelessly, in a free hour, by an aged clergyman. On that score you will perhaps do well to entertain it with some little consideration. For old age must surely bring a man somewhat, in return for his digestion (his "dura puerorum ilia," eh, Francesco), which it carries away."
Such was the purport of the Pope's discourse; but the manner high-bred, languid, kindly, and free from all tone of dictation. He seemed to be gently probing the matter in concert with his hearers, not playing Sir Oracle. At the bottom of all which was doubtless a slight touch of humbug, but the humbug that embellishes life; and all sense of it was lost in the subtle Italian grace of the thing.
"I seem to hear the oracle of Delphi," said Fra Colonna, enthusiastically.
"I call that good sense," shouted Jacques Bonaventura.
"Oh, captain, good sense!" said Gerard, with a deep and tender reproach.
The Pope smiled on Gerard. "Cavil not at words; that was an unheard-of concession from a rival theologian."
He then asked for all Gerard's work, and took it away in his hand. But, before going, he gently pulled Fra Colonna's ear, and asked him whether he remembered when they were school-fellows together, and robbed the Virgin by the roadside of the money dropped into her box. "You took a flat stick and applied birdlime to the top, and drew the money out through the chink, you rogue," said his holiness, severely.
"To every signor his own honour," replied Fra Colonna. "It was your holiness's good wit invented the manœuvre. I was but the humble instrument."
"It is well. Doubtless you know 'twas sacrilege."
"Of the first water: but I did it in such good company, it troubles me not."