When the Pope had passed, some influence made her look up.

She met the eyes of Edward Manisty.

They were instantly withdrawn, but not before the mingling of amusement and triumph in them had brought the quick red to the girl's cheek.
* * * * * And outside, in the Piazza, amid the out-pouring thousands, as they were rushing for their carriage, Manisty's stride overtook her.
'Well--you were impressed ?'--he said, looking at her sharply.
The girl's pride was somehow nettled by his tone.
'Yes--but by the old man--more than by the Pope,'-- she said quickly.
'I hope not,' he said, with emphasis.--'Otherwise you would have missed the whole point.' 'Why ?--Mayn't one feel it was pathetic, and touching--' 'No--not in the least!' he said, impatiently.

'What does the man himself matter, or his age ?--That's all irrelevant,--foolish sentiment.

What makes these ceremonies so tremendous is that there is no break between that man and Peter--or Linus, if you like--it comes to the same thing:--that the bones, if not of Peter, at any rate of men who might have known Peter, are there, mingled with the earth beneath his feet--that he stands there recognised by half the civilised world as Peter's successor--that five hundred, a thousand years hence, the vast probability is there will still be a Pope in St.Peter's to hand on the same traditions, and make the same claims.' 'But if you don't acknowledge the tradition or the claims!--why shouldn't you feel just the human interest ?' 'Oh, of course, if you want to take the mere vulgar, parochial view--the halfpenny interviewer's view--why, you must take it!' he said, almost with violence, shrugging his shoulders.
Lucy's eyes sparkled.