"Nor even than one who dies," hazarded the Frenchman.
"Sir, sir, let us not be irreligious," implored the Vicar, smiling.
The quarrel was most certainly over. Fontelles sat down by the Vicar's side.
"Yet, sir," said he, "God made the world."
"It is full as good a world as we deserve," said the Vicar.
"He might well have made us better, sir."
"There are very few of us who truly wish it," the Vicar replied. "A man hugs his sin."
"The embrace, sir, is often delightful."
"I must not understand you," said the Vicar.
Fontelles' business was proceeding but slowly. A man on an errand should not allow himself to talk about the universe. But he was recalled to his task a moment later by the sight of my figure a quarter of a mile away along the road. With an eager exclamation he pointed his finger at me, lifted his hat to the Vicar, and rushed off in pursuit. The Vicar, who had not taken his thumb from his page, opened his book again, observing to himself, "A gentleman of some parts, I think."