It should not have been exacted--allowed.

Lucy's ears listen painfully for the inevitable break.

But no!--The Pope draws a long sigh--the sigh of weakness,--( 'Ah! poveretto!' says a woman, close to Lucy, in a transport of pity),--then once more attempts the chant--sighs again--and sings.

Lucy's face softens and glows; her eyes fill with tears.
Nothing more touching, more triumphant, than this weakness and this perseverance.

Fragile indomitable face beneath the Papal crown! Under the eyes of fifty thousand people the Pope sighs like a child, because he is weak and old, and the burden of his office is great; but in sighing, keeps a perfect simplicity, dignity, courage.