"What is it, my son? Speak it at once."
"Well, then, I fear that the letter of our holy father to the King of France has been intercepted here in Milan, and sent to the Pope."
"What makes you think so?" said the monk, with an eagerness that showed how much he felt the intelligence.
"My cousin tells me that a person of consideration in the Duke's household, who is supposed to be in a position to know, told him that it was so."
Agostino felt the light grasp which the monk had laid upon his arm gradually closing with a convulsive pressure, and that he was trembling with intense feeling.
"Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight!" he said, after a few moments of silence.
"It is discouraging," said Agostino, "to see how little these princes care for the true interests of religion and the service of God,—how little real fealty there is to our Lord Jesus."
"Yes," said the monk, "all seek their own, and not the things that are Christ's. It is well written, 'Put not your trust in princes.'"
"And what prospect, what hope do you see for him?" said Agostino. "Will Florence stand firm?"
"I could have thought so once," said the monk, "in those days when I have seen counselors and nobles and women of the highest degree all humbly craving to hear the word of God from his lips, and seeming to seek nothing so much as to purify their houses, their hands, and their hearts, that they might be worthy citizens of that commonwealth which has chosen the Lord Jesus for its gonfalonier. I have seen the very children thronging to kiss the hem of his robe, as he walked through the streets; but, oh, my friend, did not Jerusalem bring palms and spread its garments in the way of Christ only four days before he was crucified?"