know; and had not even the grace of a religious faith about them."
Percy sighed again, looking at the humorously reminiscent face of the old man. Then he suddenly changed the subject again.
"What about this European parliament?" he said.
The old man started.
"Oh! . . . I think it will pass," he said, "if a man can be found to push it. All this last century has been leading up to it, as you see. Patriotism has been dying fast; but it ought to have died, like slavery and so forth, under the influence of the Catholic Church. As it is, the work has been done without the Church; and the result is that the world is beginning to range itself against us: it is an organised antagonism—a kind of Catholic anti-Church. Democracy has done what the Divine Monarchy should have done. If the proposal passes I think we may expect something like persecution once more. . . . But, again, the Eastern invasion may save us, if it comes off. . . . I do not know. . . . "
Percy sat still yet a moment; then he stood up suddenly.
"I must go, sir," he said, relapsing into Esperanto. "It is past nineteen o'clock. Thank you so much. Are you coming, father?"
Father Francis stood up also, in the dark grey suit permitted to priests, and took up his hat.
"Well, father," said the old man again, "come again some day, if I haven't been too discursive. I suppose you have to write your letter yet?"
Percy nodded.
"I did half of it this morning," he said, "but I felt I
