CHAPTER V.
(I) He awoke suddenly, at some movement, and for an instant did not remember where he was.
For nearly a week they had stayed on at Versailles; and each day that had passed had done its share in making this fairyland seem more like a reality.

But that strange subconscious self of his, for which even now there seemed no accounting, was still obstinate; it still assured him that the world ought not to be like this, that religion ought not to be so concrete and effective--that he would awake soon and find himself in some desolate state of affairs where Faith, hemmed in by enemies, still fought for very life against irresistible odds.

It was at night and at morning that the mood came on him most forcibly; when instinct, free from facts, and ranging clear of the will's dominion, asserted itself most strongly, and as he awoke this night it was on him again.
He looked round the dark little room with bewildered eyes; then he fumbled with a button, and all was flooded with light.
He was lying in a little spring-bed, set within two padded sides, like a berth in a steamship.

And beside him was the closed bureau which he perceived to be washing arrangements in disguise; overhead protruded a broad shelf; on the wall, above a little couch, hung silk curtains over a window; and, as they swayed slightly with some movement he caught sight of glass beyond.

On the door, at the foot of his bed, hung his cassock, and the purple cincture that lay across it recalled him to at least a part of the facts.