And whilst he was again seating himself applause burst forth, frantic salvoes of applause lasting for ten minutes and mingling with vivats and inarticulate cries--a passionate, tempestuous outburst, which made the very building shake.
Amidst this blast of frantic adoration Pierre gazed at Leo XIII, now again motionless on his throne.

With the papal cap on his head and the red cape edged with ermine about his shoulders, he retained in his long white cassock the rigid, sacerdotal attitude of an idol venerated by two hundred and fifty millions of Christians.

Against the purple background of the hangings of the _baldacchino_, between the wing-like drapery on either side, enclosing, as it were, a brasier of glory, he assumed real majesty of aspect.

He was no longer the feeble old man with the slow, jerky walk and the slender, scraggy neck of a poor ailing bird.

The simious ugliness of his face, the largeness of his nose, the long slit of his mouth, the hugeness of his ears, the conflicting jumble of his withered features disappeared.