“But the court-martial acquitted him!”
“True. Yet he has now been summoned before the supreme court in Madrid.”
The Archbishop’s face brightened somewhat. “And the result––what think you?”
The secretary shrugged his drooping shoulders. “They will condemn him.”
Yes, doubtless he would be condemned, for mediaevalism dies hard in Spain. But the incident was portentous, and the Archbishop and his keen secretary heard in it an ominous echo.
A servant appeared at the heavy portieres, and at a sign from the secretary ushered Josè and his father into the august presence awaiting them.
An hour later the pair emerged from the palace and started homeward. His Eminence, rousing himself from the profound revery in which he had been sunk for some moments, turned to his expectant secretary.
“A Luther in embryo!” he ejaculated.
“I feared as much, Your Eminence,” returned the austere secretary.
“And yet, a remarkable intellect! Astonishing mental power! But all tainted with the damnable so-called scientific spirit!”