There was he long heard to walk the room with measured steps. Then all
was still. No one ventured to disturb him. Hours passed. Lorenzo, with
a fearful presentiment, knelt before the door. He laid his ear to the
keyhole and tried to listen. All was still within, nothing stirred.
At length he ventured to call the pope's name--at first low and
tremulously, then louder and more anxiously, and as no answer was
received, he at last ventured to open the door.
At his writing-table sat the pope; his face deadly pale, with staring
eyes and great drops of perspiration on his forehead. Immovable sat he
there, his right hand, which held a pen, resting on a parchment lying
upon the table before him.
Like an image of wax, so stiff, so motionless was he, that Lorenzo,
shuddering, made the sign of the cross upon his brow. Then, noiselessly
advancing, he timidly and anxiously touched the pope's shoulder.
Ganganelli shuddered, and a slight trembling pervaded his members; he
then drew a long breath, and, casting a dull glance at his faithful
friend, said:
"Lorenzo, let my coffin be ordered, and pray for my soul. I have just
now signed my own death-sentence. See, there it lies. I have signed
the decree abolishing the order of the Jesuits! I must therefore
die, Lorenzo.
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