"But tell me, my dear boy, is not this saint of yours, who preaches in secret, a kind of heresiarch?
What do the priests say to him ?" "To-night you might have seen three or four here who went away perfectly satisfied." "They must be very unpriestly priests, badly baked priests, counterfeit priests.

But what do the others say?
Mark my words, sooner or later, the others will apply the _torcibudella_, the 'entrail twister,' to him." With this pleasing prophecy the Marchesa departed, followed by all the bare shoulders.
The middle-aged spinister and the Friends, glad to be rid of that contemptible, mundane bevy, assailed the Professor with questions.

Must he really not tell where the modern Catacombs were?
How many people met there?
Women also?
What were the subjects of his discourses?
What did the monks of Sant' Anselmo say?
And was anything known concerning this man's previous career?
The Professor parried the questions as best he might, and simply repeated to them the words of one of the fathers at Sant' Anselmo: "If there were a Benedetto for every parish in Rome, Rome would indeed become the Holy City." But when--all the others having left--he found himself alone with Signora Albacina and the silent lady, who were waiting for their carriage, he intimated to the former--to whom he was bound by ties of friendship--that he would willingly tell more, but that he was embarrassed by the presence of a stranger, and he begged to be presented to her.

Signora Albacina had forgotten to perform this ceremony.

"Professor Guarnacci," said she, "Signora Dessalle, a dear friend of mine." The "Catacombs" meant the very hall they were in at the present moment.
At first the meetings had been held at the Selvas' apartment, in Via Arenula.