"I am not surprised at your decision, my son. It is worthy of your blood and name. And now that we are parting for the last time, I could wish to tell you something."
David Rossi did not speak.
"My mother?"
The Pope bowed and smiled.
"She was a great soul, too, and she suffered terribly. Such are the ways of God."
Still Rossi did not speak. He was looking steadfastly into the Pope's quivering face and making an effort to control himself.
The Pope's voice shook and his lip trembled.
"Naturally, you think ill of your father, knowing how much your mother suffered. Isn't that so?"
Rossi put one hand to his forehead as if to steady his reeling brain, and said, "Who am I to think ill of any one?"