I The volor-stage was comparatively empty this afternoon, as the little party of six stepped out on to it from the lift.

There was nothing to distinguish these from ordinary travellers.

The two Cardinals of Germany and England were wrapped in plain furs, without insignia of any kind; their chaplains stood near them, while the two men-servants hurried forward with the bags to secure a private compartment.
The four kept complete silence, watching the busy movements of the officials on board, staring unseeingly at the sleek, polished monster that lay netted in steel at their feet, and the great folded fins that would presently be cutting the thin air at a hundred and fifty miles an hour.
Then Percy, by a sudden movement, turned from the others, went to the open window that looked over Rome, and leaned there with his elbows on the sill, looking.
* * * * * It was a strange view before him.
It was darkening now towards sunset, and the sky, primrose-green overhead, deepened to a clear tawny orange above the horizon, with a sanguine line or two at the edge, and beneath that lay the deep evening violet of the city, blotted here and there by the black of cypresses and cut by the thin leafless pinnacles of a poplar grove that aspired without the walls.

But right across the picture rose the enormous dome, of an indescribable tint; it was grey, it was violet--it was what the eye chose to make it--and through it, giving its solidity the air of a bubble, shone the southern sky, flushed too with faint orange.

It was this that was supreme and dominant; the serrated line of domes, spires and pinnacles, the crowded roofs beneath, in the valley dell' Inferno, the fairy hills far away--all were but the annexe to this mighty tabernacle of God.