When he was gone the Pope sat a moment absorbed in thought.
"I will send him to Courtland with you. (Yes, yes, he is staunch and to be trusted with money.) He will marry you and bring back the—the—benefaction. Your hand, my son. I am an old man and need help. May you be happy! Live well and honour Holy Church. Be not too nice. The commons like not a precisian. And, besides, you cannot live your youth over. Girolamo! Girolamo! Where is that rascal? Ah, there you are. I saw you kiss yonder pretty minx! Shame, sir, shame! You shall do penance—I myself will prescribe it. What kept you so long when I called you? Some fresh rascality, I will wager!"
"No, my father," said Girolamo readily. "I went to the dungeons of the Holy Office to see if they had finished off that ranting philosopher who stirred up the people yesterday!"
"Well, and have they?" asked the Pontiff.
"Yes, the fellow has confessed that six thousand pieces are hidden under the hearthstone of his country house. So all is well ended. He is to be burned to-morrow."
"Good—good. So perish all Jews, heretics, and enemies of Holy Church!" said Pope Sixtus piously. "And now I bid you adieu, son Conrad! You set out to-morrow. The papers shall be ready. A hundred thousand ducats, I think you said—and the fees for secularisation. These will amount to fifty thousand more. Is it not so, my son?"
Conrad bowed assent. He thought it was well that Courtland was rich and his brother Louis a careful man.
"Good—good, my son. You are a true standard-bearer of the Church. I will throw in a perpetual indulgence—with blanks which you may fill up. No, do not refuse! You think that you will never want it, because you do not want it now. But you may—you may!"
He stretched out his hand. The blessed ring of Saint Peter shone upon it. Conrad fell on his knees.
"Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi benedicat te in omni benedictione spirituali. Amen!"