“Bah!” said Soledano. “That is your English idealism. Men can only understand a base ideal. They are impelled only by one instinct—hunger. They are terrified of hunger and fight only to protect themselves against it. All their other instincts, even the instinct of reproduction, have to take their chance—a very poor one. Also my friend, your idealism is just a joke to women. Life is too serious, too immediately appalling for them, for they are just as cruelly driven by their instinct of reproduction as they are by the instinct of hunger.”
“Very well, then,” said Serge, “drop the idealism and call it practical good sense. Concentrate on the instinct of hunger and the instinct of reproduction and organise for the satisfaction of both.”
“It is impossible. You are asking men to be intelligent. The English will never be that.”
Father Soledano said good-night to Francis and held out his hand to Serge.
“I’m coming with you,” said Serge.
“Still unconvinced?”
“Absolutely convinced that I am right.”
They drove back in a cab to the priest’s house in the asphalted courtyard under the cathedral.
“Will you tell me,” asked Serge, “how you reconcile what you have said this evening with what you say in your Church?”