The Pope put down the book and turned out the light. It was then that he sang and prayed.
When Cortis came with the Pope's breakfast in the frayed edge of the morning, the chamberlain outside the bedroom door whispered to the valet, "The Holy Father has been with the angels all night long."
There was a Papal "Chapel" in St. Peter's that morning, with a procession of white vestments in honour of the Mass of the Resurrection, but the Pope did not attend. He sat alone in his simple chamber, with curtains drawn across the marble columns to obscure the bed, fingering the crucifix which hung from his neck, and waiting for the ringing of the Easter bells.
The little door to the private corridor opened quietly, and Father Pifferi entered the room.
"Well?" said the Pope.
"It is all over," said the Capuchin.
"Did the poor child ... did she bear up bravely?"
"Very bravely, your Holiness."
"No weakness, no hysteria? She did not faint or break down at the end?"
"On the contrary, she was composed—perfectly composed and quiet."