The Pope walked back to the carriage without saying a word. As he returned to the Vatican, the Angelus was ringing from all the church bells of Rome, the city was bathed in crimson light, the sun was sinking behind Monte Mario, and the stone pines on the crest of the hill, standing out against the reddening sky, were like the roofless columns of a ruined temple.
V
Next day Francesca came up with a letter. The porter from Trinità de' Monti had brought it and he was waiting below for a present. In a kind of momentary delirium Roma snatched at the envelope and emptied her purse into the old woman's hand.
"Santo Dio!" cried Francesca, "all this for a letter?"
"Never mind, godmother," said Roma. "Give the money to the good man and let him go."
"It's from Mr. Rossi, isn't it? Yes? I thought it was. You've only to say three Ave Marias when you wake in the morning and you get anything you want. I knew the Signora was dying for a letter, so...."
"Yes, yes, but the poor man is waiting, and I must get on with my work, and...."
"Work? Ah, Signora, in paradise you won't have to waste your time working. A lady like you will have violins and celestial bread and...."
"The man will be gone, godmother," said Roma, hustling the deaf old woman out of the room.
But even when Roma was alone she could not at first find courage to open the envelope. There was a certain physical thrill in handling it, in turning it over, and in looking at the stamps and the postmark. The stamps were French and the postmark was of Paris. That fact brought a vague gleam of joy. Rossi had been travelling, and perhaps he had not yet received her letter.