"You have much time," they laughed. "Why not have a coffee?"
Remembering now that he had forgotten to eat breakfast, he gulped a tiny cup of coffee and bought a sugared roll. When at last the express to Rome roared into the station, he crowded in with the others and found a seat beside a gangling American student.
The rest of the trip was a succession of dark tunnels and hairpin curves, of haystacks and strawstacks, and boys herding sheep, and oxen pulling plows between rows of grain.
Calmer now, Giorgio leaned back against the high cane seat. The train went no farther than Rome, so he closed his eyes and let the flowing countryside and the warm August air lull him to sleep.
It was the young American who, tugging at Giorgio's sleeve, woke him up. "All roads lead to Rome!" he said in Italian with a strong American accent. "We are here!"
Giorgio thanked him and burst out of the train. He hadn't meant to sleep. Suppose he had overslept and missed his appointment with the Monsignore! He ran through the station, skirting a big bed of pansies, darting his way through the surge of people, past the food and drink vendors, past porters trundling mountains of baggage. Out in the street he stopped a policeman.
"The Vatican!" he gasped. "Monsignor Tardini, he awaits me!"
The policeman smiled, then laughed. "Is it urgente?"
"Si, si! Urgente!"
The white-gloved hand made a wide circle in the air. "My boy," he bowed, "to go by carriage is best. Then the sights you see, and quickly you get there, too."