He leant back in his chair, with folded arms, staring at the ceiling--yawning--fidgetting.

At last he took out a small Greek book from his pocket, and hung over it in a moody absorption.

Once only, when a procession of the inferior clergy went by, he looked at it closely, turning afterwards to Mrs.Burgoyne with the emphatic remark: 'Bad faces!--aren't they ?--almost all of them ?' Yet Lucy could see that even here in this vast crowd, amid the hubbub and bustle, he still counted, was still remembered.

Officials came to lean and chat across the rope; diplomats stopped to greet him on the way to the august seats beyond the Confession.

His manner in return showed no particular cordiality; Lucy thought it languid, even cold.