The Pontiff ignored the insolence of the speech.
"Truly—Benevento lies behind us," he said. "Nevertheless I may not say, here is the hand of God, and there it is withheld. The schism has widened; the way of the truth is more obscure than ever; the Church has grown to be the very scorn of men, because of the instruments she employs,—she is forced to employ!"
The Pontiff's tone had grown hard and there was a steely glitter in his gray eyes.
Charles of Anjou fingered his beads more swiftly, while his thin lips stretched into a hard, straight line.
"'The end justifies the means!' has long been the maxim of the princes of the Church," he said, while his eyes seemed to rest on the tips of his buskins, protruding from under the monkish garb he affected.
The Pontiff hastened to explain.
"One may not cleanse a pigsty with a silver fork. Yet—shall the Patrimony of St. Peter be sacked and burned in the name of the Cross? Shall violence, cunning and greed reign unchecked, that the Beast may be glorified?"
"Yet the Beast may not gird its loins without drink or food,—and the Halo makes but a thin mantle!" snarled the Pontiff's crusader.
Clement raised a thin, emaciated hand.
"What a mass of falsehoods and hypocritical phrases have again assailed our ear! Our dearly beloved son in Christ boasts of his love and veneration for the Church, while those under his command are pillaging the sanctuaries!"