It was a pleasant little suite of rooms, not unlike in arrangements to those of Versailles. The windows looked out on the central court, where a fountain played, and the rooms themselves were furnished in the usual Roman fashion—painted ceilings, stone floors, and a few damask hangings.
Monsignor turned to the servant who was superintending the two
Englishmen they had brought.
"I've not been in Rome for some time," he said in Latin. "Tell me what this house is now?"
"Monsignor, it is the English palace. Monsignor is in the apartment of His Eminence Cardinal Bellairs."
"The King himself stays here?"
"It is His Majesty's palace," said the man. "The Prince George arrived two days ago. His Highness is in the apartment below."
Monsignor smiled. He understood now Father Jervis' evasions as to where they were to stay in Rome. Plainly it was determined that he should have a front seat at all ceremonies.
Ten minutes later, as he came out of his bedroom, Father Jervis himself came in.
"You have your choice, Monsignor," he said. "As a Domestic Prelate you have the right to walk in the procession (here is the permit), or as occupying rooms here we can, if you prefer, see the procession from the front windows."
"Tell me what the programme is."