The Pope smiled again, a timid smile.
"David...."
Rossi caught his breath.
"If, in the providence of God, you were to meet your father somewhere, and he held out his hand to you, would you ... wherever you met and whatever he might be ... would you shake hands with him?"
"Yes," said Rossi; "if I were a King on his throne, and he were the lowest convict at the galleys."
The Pope fetched a long breath, took a step forward, and silently held out his hand. At the next moment the young man and the old Pope were hand to hand and eye to eye.
They tried to speak and could not.
"Farewell!" said the Pope in a choking voice, and turning away he tottered out of the room.
VIII
The doctor of the Engineers, not entirely satisfied with his diagnosis of Roma's illness, prescribed a remedy of unfailing virtue—hope. It was a happy treatment. The past of her life seemed to have disappeared from her consciousness and she lived entirely in the future. It was always shining in her eyes like a beautiful sunrise.