"I should think it best to make a priest of him as soon as possible," he
said at last.
"But how? No bishop could ordain him a priest without knowing his
story."
"I would ordain him, if he came to me. I think I should be doing right."
"But then your Eminence would know him, and the secret of confession
would have been betrayed."
"That is true. Let him go to another bishop and tell his story."
"Another bishop might not think as your Eminence does. Besides, the
question is what the confessor is to do under the circumstances."
The cardinal suddenly rose, went to the broad window, and looked out
thoughtfully. Don Matteo stood up respectfully, waiting. It seemed to
him a long time before the prelate turned, and what he did then
surprised the priest very much, for he went to each of the three doors
of the room in succession, opened it, looked out, closed it again and
locked it. Then he came back to Don Matteo.
"Are you, to the best of your belief, in a state of grace, my friend?"
he asked in a low voice. "Have you no mortal sin on your conscience?
Reflect well. This is a grave matter."
"I cannot think of any, Eminence," answered the good priest, after a
moment's pause.
"Very well. We are alone here. The case of conscience you have laid
before me is a very extraordinary one. I do not wish to know whether it
has actually come before you in confession. But if it has,--or if it
should,--I should wish you to be in a position to help that poor man and
set his life straight, by the grace of God, without injuring him, and,
above all, without injuring any of those persons to whom he has
administered the sacraments.
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