It may well serve as a reminder of that famous sacred stone from which the Convent takes its name.
Methinks we have, between us, contrived something of an omen, concluding in thy favour." Presently the Bishop, alone in his library, stood the white stone upon the iron-bound chest within which he had placed the Pope's mandate.
"The age of miracles is past," he said again.

"Iron no longer swims, neither do stones rise from the depths of a river, unless the Divine command be supplemented by the grip of strong human fingers.
"Stand there, thou little tombstone of our hopes.

Mark the place where lies the Holy Father's mandate, ecclesiastically all-powerful, yet rendered null and void by the faithful conscience and the firm will of a woman.

God send us more such women!" The Bishop sounded a silver gong, and when his body-servant appeared, pointed to the handkerchief, damp and crumpled, upon the table.
"Dry this, Jasper," he said, "and bring me another somewhat larger.
These dainty trifles cannot serve, when 'tears run down like a river.' Nay, look not distressed, my good fellow.

I do but jest.