“God is my witness that....”
“Oh, don’t go on calling God to witness!” interrupted Julius again. “God has nothing to do with it. I am merely explaining that when I say that your attitude was almost one of rebellion ... I mean what would be rebellion for me; and what I find fault with is precisely that while you get credit for submitting to injustice, you leave other people to rebel for you. As for me, I wouldn’t accept the Church’s being in the wrong; while you with your air of not letting butter melt in your mouth, really put her in the wrong. So I made up my mind to complain in your stead. You’ll see in a moment how right I was to be indignant.”
Julius, on whose forehead the beads of perspiration were beginning to gather, put his top-hat on his knee.
“Wouldn’t you like a little air?” asked Anthime, as he obligingly lowered the window on his side.
“So,” went on Julius, “as soon as I got to Rome, I solicited an audience. It was granted. This step of mine met with the most singular success....”
“Ah!” said Anthime indifferently.
“Yes, my dear Anthime, for though in reality I obtained nothing of what I came to ask, at any rate I brought away from my visit an assurance which ... effectually cleared our Holy Father from all the injurious suppositions we had been making about him.”
“God is my witness that I never made any injurious suppositions about our Holy Father.”
“I made them for you. I saw you wronged. I was indignant.”
“Come to the point, Julius. Did you see the Pope?”