"But how?" Fare demanded, while Minucci, much vexed, grumbled: "It's not
that at all!"

Selva felt that the souls which had been united by a first impulse were
drifting apart again. He felt that Dane, Minucci, and probably also
Fare, wished, as did he himself, to initiate an intellectual movement,
and that this Franciscan flash had come out of season and was out of
place. It was all the more inopportune in that it was hot with living
truth. For undoubtedly there was much truth in Padre Salvati's words: he
recognised this, he, who had often debated in his own mind if it had not
been wiser and for the greater good of the Church to promote a moral
agitation rather than an intellectual one. But he himself did not feel
qualified for this Franciscan apostolate, nor could he discover the
necessary qualifications in any of his friends; not even in the most
zealous of all, Luigi Minucci, a recluse, an ascetic, shunning the world
like Selva himself. Salvati's arguments served to demolish, but not to
build up. Giovanni secretly felt the irony of applying them either to
Marinier or to Dane, of whom it was well known that their tastes were
anything but Franciscan, that their palates were fastidious, their
nerves delicate, and their affections lavished on parrots and little
dogs. If anything was to be achieved, a line of defence must at once be
adopted.

"Dear Padre Salvati must pardon me," he began, "if I observe that his
discourse--so warm with the true Christian spirit--is ill-timed. I
gather that he is with us in desiring a Catholic reform. To-night only a
proposal is before us; the proposal to form a sort of league among all
those who cherish the same desire. Let us then decide this point."

The _Scolopio_ would not yield. He could not understand an inactive