WHEN the car reached the summit, the priest stepped out, and the boys followed.
“Here,” he said, stepping up to the parapet and making a sweep around the horizon with one arm, “you have one of the grandest views in Europe. It is not as extensive as the view from the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and of course there is not such a wilderness of buildings around us. But here you have what is lacking there, a great body of water for a background. You do not see much of the Mediterranean from this terrace, because the remainder of the hill is in the way; we still have a considerable part of the hill to climb, you know. But from the level of the church there is a grand view of the sea.”
“There could hardly be a better view of the city, sir, than there is from here,” Kit answered. “The entire place seems to be just below us, and the hills by which it is enclosed. The Old Port looks from here like a little pond. But I can make out our ship very plainly, though she looks like a toy boat from this distance. It is the third steamer from the end, on this side, sir.”
“Ah, then you are sailors, are you?” the priest asked. “And I know from your manner of speech that you are Americans.”
“Not exactly sailors, sir,” Harry said, thinking it time for him to take a little part in the conversation. “Mr. Silburn is supercargo of that steamer he showed you, the North Cape, and I am the cabin boy.”
“Then you have a great opportunity to see many parts of the world,” the priest answered. “But in all your travels you will hardly see anything more unusual than the church we are about to visit. There are other churches on hilltops, but none with as many curious phases as this. I have remained for several weeks in Marseilles solely for the sake of becoming well acquainted with it.”
“Then you do not live in Marseilles, sir?” Kit asked. “I suppose that according to the custom of the country we ought to call you ‘father’; but we are Americans and Protestants, and not accustomed to such things.”
“It is not of the least consequence,” the priest answered, with a smile. “I would not have you depart from what you believe to be right. It is not a good plan to be Protestant in America and a Catholic in Europe and a Mohammedan in Turkey, and a Confucian in China. Whatever you are, stick to it wherever you go. No,” he went on, “I do not live in Marseilles. My home overlooks this same beautiful blue sea, but it is many leagues from here. I live in Rome.”
“We need not linger here,” the priest continued, “for the view is much broader from the church. Come this way, and we will ascend to the summit.”
He led the way under a heavy stone arch to a long, broad stone viaduct, like a bridge, extending from the column of masonry to the hill beyond. Then the wide stone walk went up, up, with occasional flights of five or six steps. At the further end of this was a longer flight of stone steps, then a turn and another flight, and they were in front of the entrance to a solid stone fort, with a soldier on guard at the gate. At this level the gale was so strong that they could hardly keep their feet. But still they kept on, up more stone steps, till they came to the portico of the church.