His companion made a slow movement of assent.
Manisty smoked on, till presently he launched the mot for which he had been feeling. 'The truth of the matter seems to be that Italy is Catholic, because she hasn't faith enough to make a heresy; and anti-clerical, because it is her destiny to be a nation!'
The priest smiled, but with a certain languor, turning his head once or twice as though to listen for sounds behind him, and taking out his watch. His eyes meanwhile—and their observation of Manisty—were not languid; seldom had the mild and spiritual face been so personal, so keen.
'Well, it is a great game,' said Manisty again—'and we shan't see the end.
Tell me—how have they treated you—the priests in these parts?'
Benecke started and shrank.
'I have no complaint to make,' he said mildly. 'They seem to me good men.'
Manisty smoked in silence.
Then he said, as though summing up his own thoughts,—
'No,—there are plenty of dangers ahead. This war has shaken the Sabaudisti—for the moment. Socialism is serious.—Sicily is serious.—The economic difficulties are serious.—The House of Savoy will have a rough task, perhaps, to ride the seas that may come.—But Italy is safe. You can no more undo what has been done than you can replace the child in the womb. The birth is over. The organism is still weak, but it lives. And the forces behind it are indefinitely, mysteriously stronger than the Vatican thinks.'
'A great recantation,' said the priest quickly.