“Are lines like this—­and railways, and so on—­owned by the State now?  I suppose so.”

The other shook his head.

“That was tried under Socialism,” he said.  “It was one of their smaller failures.  You see, when competition ceases, effort ceases.  Human nature is human nature, after all.  The Socialists forgot that.  No; we encourage private enterprise as much as possible, under State restrictions.”

They paused as they came out again.

“Care to lie down for a bit?  We shan’t be in till three.  The Cardinal engaged a room for us.”

He indicated a small cabin that bore his own name on a card.

Monsignor paused.

“Yes, I will, I think.  I’ve a lot to think about.”

But he could not sleep.  The priest promised to awaken him in plenty of time, and he slipped off his buckled shoes and tried to compose his mind.  But it was useless.  His mind whirled with wonder.

Once he slipped to a sitting position, drew back the little curtain over the porthole, and stared out.  There was little to be seen; but by the sight of a lake of soft light that slid past at some incalculable depth a dozen miles away, he perceived that they had left the sea far behind and were spinning over the land of France.  He looked out long, revolving thoughts and conjectures, striving to find some glimmer of memory by which he might adjust these new experiences; but there was none.  He was like a child, with the brain of a man, plunged into a new mode of existence, where everything seemed reversed, and yet astonishingly obvious; it was the very simplicity that baffled him.  The Christian religion was true down (or up) even to the Archangels that stand before God and control the powers of the air.  The priesthood was the priesthood; the Blessed Sacrament was the God-Man tabernacling with men.  Then where was the cause for amazement that the world recognized these facts and acted upon them; that men should salute the priest of God as His representative and agent on earth; that air-ships (themselves constructed on the model of the sea-gull—­hollow feathers and all) should carry the Blessed Sacrament on long journeys, that communicants might not be deprived of their Daily Bread, and even raise altars on board to the honour of those Powers under whose protection they placed themselves.  It was curious, too, he reflected, that those who insist most upon the claims of Divinity insist also upon the claims of humanity.  It seemed suggestive that it was the Catholics who were most aware of the competitive passions of men and reckoned with them, while the Socialists ignored them and failed.