the first time in his knowledge, he had come into his presence,
still staggered by the shock of his mental failure and recovery.
But he had never appreciated the strength of the personality so
clearly. The Cardinal was no orator in the ordinary sense; there
was no thunder or pathos or drama in his manner. But his complete
assurance and the long, gentle, incisive sentences, moving like
rollers in a calm sea, were more affecting than any passion could
be. . . . It seemed to him now the very incarnation of that
spirit of the Church that at once attracted and repelled him--in
its serenity, its gentleness, its reasonableness, and its
irresistible force.

* * * * *

Then, on a slightly higher note, and with a perceptible increase
of deliberation, the voice went on.

"I must add one word, gentlemen.

"I said just now that the Church was content to be as she has
recently been in this country--content, that is, so long as she
continues to enjoy the liberty with which England endows her.

"And perhaps, as her chief minister in this country, I ought to
say no more. But, gentlemen, I am an Englishman as well as a
Catholic, and I love England only less than I love the Church. I
say frankly that I do love her less. No man who has any
principles that can be called religious can say otherwise. I tell
you plainly that should it come to be a choice between Caesar and
God--between the King and the Pope--I should throw myself at once