Percy looked at him with an immense envy. Ah! if only he were as old as that! He could bear a year or two more of this misery, but not fifty years, he thought. It was an almost endless vista that (even if things went well) opened before him, of continual strife, self-repression, energy, misrepresentation from his enemies. The Church was sinking further every day. What if this new spasm of fervour were no more than the dying flare of faith? How could he bear that? He would have to see the tide of atheism rise higher and more triumphant every day; Felsenburgh had given it an impetus of whose end there was no prophesying. Never before had a single man wielded the full power of democracy. Then once more he looked forward to the morrow. Oh! if it could but end in death!... _Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur!_ ... It was no good; it was cowardly to think in this fashion. After all, God was God--He takes up the isles as a very little thing. Percy took out his office book, found Prime and St. Sylvester, signed himself with the cross, and began to pray. A minute later the two chaplains slipped in once more, and sat down; and all was silent, save for that throb of the screw, and the strange whispering rush of air outside. III It was about nineteen o’clock that the ruddy English conductor looked in at the doorway, waking Percy from his doze. “Dinner will be served in half-an-hour, gentlemen,” he said (speaking Esperanto, as the rule was on international cars). “We do not stop at Turin to-night.” He shut the door and went out, and the sound of closing doors came down the corridor as he made the same announcement to each compartment. There were no passengers to descend at Turin, then, reflected Percy; and no doubt a wireless message had been received that there were none to come on board either. That was good news: it would give him more time in London. It might even enable Cardinal Steinmann to catch an earlier volor from Paris to Berlin; but he was not sure how they ran. It was a pity that the German had not been able to catch the thirteen o’clock from Rome to Berlin direct. So he calculated, in a kind of superficial insensibility. He stood up presently to stretch himself. Then he passed out and along the corridor to the lavatory to wash his hands.