The princess was recognised by many as the fortunate recipient of the consecrated palm-leaf on the day before, and they whispered one to another, "Ah, _la beata!_" This sudden turn of affairs drove Gabriel Zimandy's Latin speech completely out of his head, so that he could not have given even the first word.

As he hastened forward in all his court toggery, as he called it, he could have sworn that there were at least fifty swords dangling between his legs and doing their best to trip him up.

After passing through a seemingly endless succession of splendid halls and stately corridors, the party was ushered into an apartment opening on the magnificent gardens of the Vatican.

Here it was that Pio Nono was wont to receive the ladies whom he favoured with a private audience.
The princess and her companions stood before the august head of the Church, the sovereign who acknowledges no earthly boundaries to his dominions.

Blanka felt a deep joy in her heart as she looked on that benignant countenance, her eyes filled with tears, and she sank on her knees.