Percy rose with a strange sense of elation, and ran to open the door for the Cardinal to go through.

III

At a few minutes before eleven Percy came out of his little white-washed room in his new ferraiuola, soutane and buckle shoes, and tapped at the door of the Cardinal’s room.

He felt a great deal more self-possessed now.  He had talked to the Cardinal freely and strongly, had described the effect that Felsenburgh had had upon London, and even the paralysis that had seized upon himself.  He had stated his belief that they were on the edge of a movement unparalleled in history:  he related little scenes that he had witnessed—­a group kneeling before a picture of Felsenburgh, a dying man calling him by name, the aspect of the crowd that had waited in Westminster to hear the result of the offer made to the stranger.  He showed him half-a-dozen cuttings from newspapers, pointing out their hysterical enthusiasm; he even went so far as to venture upon prophecy, and to declare his belief that persecution was within reasonable distance.

“The world seems very oddly alive,” he said; “it is as if the whole thing was flushed and nervous.”

The Cardinal nodded.

“We, too,” he said, “even we feel it.”

For the rest the Cardinal had sat watching him out of his narrow eyes, nodding from time to time, putting an occasional question, but listening throughout with great attention.

“And your recommendations, father—–­” he had said, and then interrupted himself.  “No, that is too much to ask.  The Holy Father will speak of that.”

He had congratulated him upon his Latin then—­for they had spoken in that language throughout this second interview; and Percy had explained how loyal Catholic England had been in obeying the order, given ten years before, that Latin should become to the Church what Esperanto was becoming to the world.

“That is very well,” said the old man.  “His Holiness will be pleased at that.”

At his second tap the door opened and the Cardinal came out, taking him by the arm without a word; and together they turned to the lift entrance.

Percy ventured to make a remark as they slid noiselessly up towards the papal apartment.

“I am surprised at the lift, your Eminence, and the typewriter in the audience-room.”

“Why, father?”

“Why, all the rest of Rome is back in the old days.”

The Cardinal looked at him, puzzled.

“Is it?  I suppose it is.  I never thought of that.”

A Swiss guard flung back the door of the lift, saluted and went before them along the plain flagged passage to where his comrade stood.  Then he saluted again and went back.  A Pontifical chamberlain, in all the sombre glory of purple, black, and a Spanish ruff, peeped from the door, and made haste to open it.  It really seemed almost incredible that such things still existed.