Gianluca smiled again, for the description of the man was keen and true, as men knew him.
"No," he answered; "I shall not consult Ghisleri. You and I are different enough to understand each other. He and I are not, though he is a good friend of mine."
"I should not say that you resemble Ghisleri in any way," observed
Taquisara, bluntly.
"You may not see it, but I feel it. It is not easy to explain. He and I feel about many things in the same way, but we look at ourselves differently."
"That sounds like a woman's speech!" said Taquisara. "But you are always making fine distinctions which I cannot understand. What do you mean when you say that you look at yourselves differently? How do you look at yourselves?"
"Do you never think about yourself, as though you were another person, and were judging yourself like a man you knew?"
"No," said Taquisara, thoughtfully. "I never thought of doing that."
"But what does self-examination mean, then?" asked Gianluca.
"I have not the slightest idea. I am myself. I know myself. I know what I want and do not want. It seems to me that I know enough. What in the world should I examine? You would be much better if you could get rid of all that romance about conscience and self-examination and such trash. A man knows perfectly well whether he is faithful to the woman he loves or not, whether he is betraying his friend or standing by him—what else do you want? I believe that theology and philosophy and self-examination, and all that, were invented in early times for heathen people who did not know whether they were doing right or wrong, because they were just converted."
At this extraordinary view of church history Gianluca laughed.