"In self-defence, you say?"
"I am really guilty of the crime, because I intended to commit it."
"But if it was done in self-defence it was no crime, and you must not and shall not suffer."
Roma dropped the Pope's cassock and took hold of his hand.
"Holy Father," she said, "how can I wish to live when he who loved me loves me no longer? I know quite well it is better that I should go, and that when he comes it should be all over. I dreamt of it last night, your Holiness. I thought my husband had come back and all the church bells were ringing. Only a dream, and perhaps you do not believe in such foolishness. But it was very sweet to think that if I could not live for my love I could die for him, and so wipe out everything."
The Pope's white head was bent very low.
"And then I cannot suffer very much, your Holiness. I am ill, really ill, and my trouble will not last very long. And if God is using what has happened to bring out all things well, perhaps He intends that I shall give myself in the place of some one who is better and more necessary."
The Pope could bear no more. His lip quivered and his voice shook, but his eyes were shining.
"It is not for me to gainsay you, my daughter. I came here to see Mary Magdalene, and find the soul of the saints themselves. The world's judgment on a woman who has sinned is merciless and cruel, but if David Rossi is worthy of his mother and his name, he will come back to you on his knees."
"Bless me, your Holiness."