“If you don’t believe me, you can at any rate believe our poor martyr here.”
They both remained silent for a few minutes. It had stopped raining; a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds. The carriage slowly jolted into Rome.
“In that case, I know what remains for me to do,” went on Anthime in his most decided voice. “I shall give the whole show away.”
Julius started with horror.
“My dear friend, you terrify me. You’ll get yourself excommunicated for a certainty.”
“By whom? If it’s by a sham Pope, I don’t care a damn!”
“And I, who thought I should help you to extract some consolatory virtue out of this secret,” went on Julius, in dismay.
“You’re joking!... And who knows but what Fleurissoire, when he gets to heaven, won’t find after all that his Almighty isn’t the real God either?”
“Come, come, my dear Anthime, you’re rambling! As if there could be two! As if there could be another!”
“It’s all very easy for you to talk—you, who have never in your life given up anything for Him—you, who profit by everything—true or false. Oh! I’ve had enough! I want some fresh air!”