"Yes, if the confessional were in question. The world knows that the
seal of the confessional is sacred, and must be observed at all costs.
But this is not a case of the confessional."
"Didn't your Holiness say you would observe it as such?"
"And I shall. But what about the public? Accident has told the
Government that this is not a case of the confessional, and the
Government will tell the world. What follows? If I refuse to do anything
the enemies of the Church will give it out that the Holy Father is an
accomplice of a regicide, ready and willing to intrigue with the agents
of rebellion to regain the temporal power."
"Then you will receive the Prime Minister?"
"No! Or if so, only in the company of his superior."
"The King?"
"Yes."
The Capuchin removed his skull-cap with an uneasy hand, and walked some
paces without speaking.
"Will he come, your Holiness?"
"If he thinks I hold the secret on which his life depends, assuredly he
will come."
"But you are sovereign as well as Pope--is it possible for you to
receive him?"
"I will receive him as the King of Sardinia, the King of Italy, if you
will, but not as the King of Rome."
The Capuchin took his coloured handkerchief from his sleeve and rolled
it in his palms, which were hot and perspiring.
"But, Holy Father," he said, "what will be the good? Say that all
difficulties of etiquette can be removed, and you can meet as man to
man, as David Leone and Albert Charles--why will the King come? Only to
ask you to put pressure upon your informant to give more information."
The Pope drew himself up on the gravel path and smote his breast with
indignation. "Never! It would be an insult to the Church," he said. "It
is one thing to expect the Holy Father to do his duty as a Christian
even to his enemy, it is another thing to ask him to invade the sanctity
of a private confidence."
The Capuchin did not reply, and the two old men walked on in silence. As
the light softened the swallows increased their clamour, and song-birds
began to call from neighbouring trees. Suddenly a startled cry burst
from the foliage, and, turning quickly, the Pope lifted up the cat
which, as usual, was picking its way at his heels.
"Ah, Meesh, Meesh! I've got you safely this time.... It was the poor
mother-bird again, I suppose. Where is her nest, I wonder?"