“Come?” I gasped.
He spurned a sobbing peasant-woman with his foot and cleared a space with his staff that he might plant me at the centre of the money-box.
“Passi,” he said pleasantly, seeing I hesitated to displace these passionate souls. “Regard the jewels and precious stones of her robe, the diamonds, emeralds, and pearls in her crown, the collars of Oriental pearl, the rings, the crosses of topaz and diamonds, the Bambino’s diamond necklace, the ring on his finger, the medallion with the great diamonds given by the King of Saxony——” He trolled off the glittering catalogue, on and on, in a joyous, dominant voice, to which the sighs and groans of the worshippers made an undertone. Countesses and Cardinals, Popes and Marchese had vied in dressing the idol, and decorating the kitchen. “And you must see the Treasury,” he wound up. “Gifts from all the royal houses of Europe to Our Lady of Loreto!”
“Loreto?” I repeated dully.
He looked at me sharply, as at a scoffer.
“But how did the Holy House get to Loreto?” I added hastily.
“It was carried by angels,” he answered simply.
“But when?”
“On the night of the tenth of December in the year 1294 from the bearing of the Virgin.”
“Who saw it carried?”