And who cares?
Lucy looks round her at the good-humoured indifference, vacancy, curiosity, of the great multitude filling the nave; and her soul frees itself in a rush of protesting amazement.
* * * * * One more 'moment' however there was,--very different from the great moment of the entry, yet beautiful.

The mass is over, and a temporary platform has been erected between the Confession and the nave.

The Pope has been placed upon it, and is about to chant the Apostolic Benediction.
The old man is within thirty feet of Manisty, who sits nearest to the barrier.

The red Cardinal holding the service-book, the groups of guards, clergy and high officials, every detail of the Pope's gorgeous dress, nay every line of the wrinkled face, and fleshless hands, Lucy's eyes command them all.

The quavering voice rises into the sudden silence of St.Peter's.
Fifty thousand people hush every movement, strain their ears to listen.
Ah! how weak it is! Surely the effort is too great for a frame so enfeebled, so ancient.