Monsignor Agmierra touched Brother Francis’ arm as the pilgrim group passed out the portals. He embraced the monk warmly. The postulator of the Saint’s cause had aged so greatly that Francis recognized him only with difficulty at close range. But Francis, too, was gray at the temples, and had grown wrinkled about the eyes from squinting over the copy-table. The monsignor handed him a package and a letter as they descended the scala caetestis. Francis glanced at the letter’s address and nodded. His own name was written on the package, which bore a diplomatic seal. "For me, Messer?"