‘It doesn’t matter. My time’s coming; you can’t put it off.’ His hand touched hers hanging at her side and he clasped it firmly. ‘Come here; we’ll get out of this crowd,’ and he pushed on outside and drew back into a corner by one of the tall columns. The crowd surged past, flowing down the steps like a river widening to the sea. Below them the piazza was black with a tossing, moving mass of carriages and people. The mass of the Vatican at their left loomed a black bulk in the night, its hundreds of windows shining in the reflected lights of the piazza like the eyes of a great octopus. At another time Marcia might have looked very curiously toward the palace. She might have wondered if in one of those dark windows Leo was not standing brooding over the throng of worshippers who had come that day. How must a pope feel to see thirty thousand people go out from under his roof—go out freely to their homes—while he alone may not step across the threshold? At another time she would have paused to play a little with the thought, but now her attention was engaged. Paul still held her hand.
He squared himself in front of her, with his back to the crowd. ‘Have you been thinking about what I asked you?’
Had she been thinking! She had been doing nothing else. She looked at him reproachfully. ‘Let’s not talk about it. The more I think, the more I don’t know.’
‘That’s an unfortunate state to be in. Perhaps I can help you to make up your mind. Are you going to be in love with me some day, Marcia—soon?’ he persisted.
‘I—I don’t know.’
He leaned toward her, with his face very close to hers. She shrank back further into the shadow. ‘There they are!’ she exclaimed, as she caught sight of Eleanor’s head above the crowd, and she tried to draw her hand away.
‘Never mind them. They won’t be here for three minutes. You’ve got time enough to answer me.’
‘Please, not now—Paul,’ she whispered.
‘When?’ he insisted, keeping a firm hold of her hand. ‘The next time I see you?’
‘Yes—perhaps,’ and she turned away to greet the others.