Then the President lifted his head slightly, and a tremor ran round the circle.

“I see no reason for delay,” he said heavily.  “Our terms were clear.  This man came with the full knowledge of them and the consequences of disregarding them——­”

The Pope lifted his hand.

“One instant, Mr. President——­”

“I see no reason——­”

“Gentlemen-----”

A murmur of consent rolled round the thirty persons sitting there, so unmistakable that the man who up to now had ruled them all with a hint or gesture dropped his head again.  Then the Pope went on.

“Gentlemen, I have really no more to say than that which I have said.  But I beg of you to reconsider.  You propose to kill me as you have killed my messengers.  Well, I am at your disposal.  I did not expect to live so long when I set out from Rome this morning.  But, then, what will you gain?  At midnight every civilized nation is in arms.  And I will tell you what perhaps you do not know—­that the East is supporting Europe.  The Eastern fleets are actually on their way at this moment that I speak.  You propose to reform Society.  I will not argue as to those reforms; I say only that they are too late.  I will not argue as to the truth of the Christian religion.  I say only that the Christian religion is already ruling this world.  You kill me?  My successor will reign to-morrow. . . .  You kill the Emperor; his son, now in Rome, at that moment begins to reign.  Gentlemen, what do you gain?  Merely this—­that in days to come your names will be foul in all men’s mouths. . . .  At this moment you have an opportunity to submit; in a few minutes it will be too late.”

He paused a moment.

Then, to the priest’s eyes, it seemed as if some subtle change passed over his face and figure.  Up to now he had spoken, conversationally and quietly, as a man might speak to a company of friends.  But, though he had not noticed it at the time, he remembered later how there had been gathering during his little speech a certain secret intensity and force like the kindling of a fire.  In this pause it swept on and up, flushing his face with sudden colour, lifting his hands as on a rising tide, breaking out suddenly in his eyes like fire, and in his voice in passion.  The rest saw it too; and in that tense atmosphere it laid hold of them as with a giant’s hand; it struck their tight-strung nerves; it broke down the last barriers on which their own fears had been at work.

“My children,” cried the White Father, no longer a Frenchman now, but a very Son of Man.  “My children, do not break my heart!  So long and hard the labour—­two thousand years long—­two thousand years since Christ died; and you to wreck and break the peace that comes at last; that peace into which through so great tribulations the people of God are entering at last.  You say you know no God, and cannot love Him; but you know man—–­poor wilful man—­and would you fling him back once more into wrath and passion and lust for blood?—­those lusts from which even now he might pass to peace if it were not for you.  You say that Christ is hard—­that His Church is cruel, and that man must have liberty?  I too say that man must have liberty—­he was made for it; but what liberty would that be which he has not learned to use?