A very great Pope, this one, the old woman explained, her black eyes sparkling. An intellectual. But very mystical too. It was said that he had had a vision. Just as thousands that day in Portugal had seen the sun dancing in the sky, he had seen the same thing later in his own garden, and she turned to Agnese for confirmation. Agnese had been sitting quietly, listening with the serenity of the unaware. Now a little flush came on her pale homely face and enchantment in her eyes. The Holy Father would die soon, she said to Carla, so she could translate for Sam, although he had a brilliant doctor, a man who did not need the assistance of those doctors offered by the great rulers of the world. Yes, the Pope could die and quickly be made a saint. No, he was indeed a saint now. Nodding approvingly and swelling with importance, the old lady whispered confidentially. There was a certain discontent among the cardinals. The Pope, in the splendor of his great intellect, had neglected them a little. There would be changes made, and Signor Raymond should understand that when the Pope died it was like the end of a regime in Rome. Jobs would be lost and new faces would become prominent.

Did Signor Raymond understand? Indeed he did, Sam said solemnly, trying to get Carla's eye. Surely she could see that these women were her Italians, too, he thought. Devout, orthodox and plain like a family she might meet in Brooklyn or Malta or Ireland. But Carla; eyes were on Agnese whose glowing face and softening eyes gave her a look of warmth and happiness. And Carla, watching in wonder, turned to Sam. ``It means so much to her. It's like a flame, I guess,'' she said in a dreamy tone.