Surely nothing was too hard for God! Might not this mystic Birth once more do what it had done before--bring into subjection through the might of its weakness every proud thing that exalts itself above all that is called God?
It had drawn wise Kings once across the desert, as well as shepherds from their flocks.

It had kings about it now, kneeling with the poor and foolish, kings who had laid down their crowns, who brought the gold of loyal hearts, the myrrh of desired martyrdom, and the incense of a pure faith.

Could not republics, too, lay aside their splendour, mobs be tamed, selfishness deny itself, and wisdom confess its ignorance ?...
Then he remembered Felsenburgh; and his heart sickened within him.
III Six days later, Percy rose as usual, said his mass, breakfasted, and sat down to say office until his servant should summon him to vest for the Pontifical mass.
He had learned to expect bad news now so constantly--of apostasies, deaths, losses--that the lull of the previous week had come to him with extraordinary refreshment.

It appeared to him as if his musings in St.
Anastasia had been truer than he thought, and that the sweetness of the old feast had not yet wholly lost its power even over a world that denied its substance.

For nothing at all had happened of importance.