During Father Waite’s earnest talk Lafelle sat with his eyes fixed upon Carmen. When the ex-priest concluded, the churchman ignored him and vouchsafed no reply.
“Well, Monsignor?” said the girl, after waiting some moments in expectation.
Lafelle smiled paternally. Then, nodding his shapely head, he said in a pleading tone:
“Have I no champion here? Would you, too, suddenly abolish the Church, Catholic and Protestant alike? Why, my dear child, with your ideals––which no one appreciates more highly than I––do you continue to persecute me so cruelly? Can not you, too, sense the unsoundness of the views just now so eloquently voiced?”
“That is cant, Monsignor! You speak wholly without authority or proof, as is your wont.”
The man winced slightly. “Well,” he said, “there are several hundred million Catholics and Protestants in the world to-day. Would you presume to say that they are all mistaken, and that you are right? Something of an assumption, is it not? Indeed, I think you set the Church an example in that respect.”
“Monsignor, there were once several hundred millions who believed that the earth was flat, and that the sun revolved about it. Were they mistaken?”
“Yes. But the––”
“And, Monsignor, there are billions to-day who believe that matter is a solid, substantial reality, and that it possesses life and sensation. There are billions who believe that the physical 175 eyes see, and the ears hear, and the hands feel. Yet these beliefs are all capable of scientific refutation. Did you know that?”
“I am not unacquainted with philosophical speculation,” he returned suggestively.