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.
