There was a heavy silence, during which the Pontiff and Charles of Anjou exchanged significant glances.
They had not remained unremarked by Francesco, and the spark of rebellion which had slumbered in his soul all these long and weary months was fanned to devouring flame, as with inexpressible loathing his gaze rested upon the man who was the abomination of Christendom, the instrument of the Pontiff.
"What proof have we that you are atoning for the transgressions of one who passed from earth in mortal sin?" the Pontiff queried after a pause, while a fatuous smile played about Anjou's lips.
"The garb I wear," Francesco flashed. "The garb your Holiness has imposed!"
The Pontiff regarded him quizzically.
"You have served your novitiate?"
"At Monte Cassino!"
"How fares the Prior? It is many moons since we have visited his mountain-heights!"
Francesco gave a brief account of his life at the cloister, up to the time when he had received the summons to Rome.