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           Therewasnothingusualorordinaryabouthimafterall,evenifhisrolewasanordinaryone;inspiteofthefactthathehadlongedtotalktoanaverage,ordinaryman,HisGracewasinterested.

           "Sitdown,"hesaidtotheboy,crossingtoachestandunearthingabottleofMarsalawine.Hepouredsomeintotwoglasses,gavetheboyoneandtookhisowntoachairfromwhichhecouldwatchthefascinatingcountenancecomfortably."Aretheyreducedtodraftingchildrentodotheirfighting?"heasked,crossinghislegs.

           "Idon’tknow,"saidtheboy."Iwasinachildren’shome,soI’dbetakenearlyanyway."

           "What’syourname,lad?"

           "RainerMoerlingHartheim,"saidtheboy,rollingitoutwithgreatpride.

           "Amagnificentname,"saidthepriestgravely.

           "Itis,isn’tit?Ichoseitmyself.TheycalledmeRainerSchmidtatthehome,butwhenIwentintothearmyIchangedittothenameI’vealwayswanted."

           "Youwereanorphan?"

           "TheSisterscalledmealovechild."

           ArchbishopRalphtriednottosmile;theboyhadsuchdignityandself-possession,nowhehadlosthisfear.Onlywhathadfrightenedhim?Notbeingfound,orbeinglockedinthebasilica."Whywereyousofrightened,Rainer?"

           Theboysippedhiswinegingerly,lookedupwithapleasedexpression."Good,it’ssweet."Hemadehimselfmorecomfortable."IwantedtoseeSaintPeter’sbecausetheSistersalwaysusedtotalkaboutitandshowuspictures.SowhentheypostedustoRomeIwasglad.Wegotherethismorning.TheminuteIcould,Icame."