“Nay, good Vito, thou dost not state the case fairly,” interrupted Andrea, whose spirit was a little aroused at so abrupt an assault.  “The theory is not mine; it is that of a certain English philosopher, in particular, who, let it be said, too, was a bishop.”

“A Lutheran!—­was it not so, honorable Signor Andrea?—­a bishop so called?”

“Why, to confess the truth, he was a heretic, and not to be considered as an apostle of the true church.”

“Aye—­I would have sworn to that.  No true son of the church would ever broach such a doctrine.  Only fancy, signori, the number of imaginary fires, tongues, and other instruments of torture that would become necessary to carry on punishment under such a system!  To be consistent, even the devils ought to be imaginary.”

“Comment, signori!" exclaimed Raoul, smiling, and arousing to a sudden interest in the discourse; “did any English bishop ever broach such a doctrine?  Imaginary devils, and imaginary places of punishment, are coming near to our revolutionary France!  After this, I hope our much-abused philosophy will meet with more respect.”

“My neighbor has not understood the theory of which he speaks,” answered Andrea, too good, a churchman not to feel uneasiness at the direction things were taking:  “and so, worthy Vito Viti, I feel the necessity of explaining the whole matter at some length.  Sir Smees,” so the Italians called Raoul, out of courtesy still, it being awkward for them, after all that had passed, to address him by his real name—­“Sir Smees will excuse us for a few minutes; perhaps it may serve to amuse him to hear to what a flight the imagination of a subtle-minded man can soar.”

Raoul civilly expressed the satisfaction it would give him to listen, and stretching himself on the gun-tackle, in order to be more at ease, he leaned back with his head fairly within the port, while his feet were braced against the inner truck of the gun-carriage.  This threw him into a somewhat recumbent attitude, but it being understood as intended to render what was but an inconvenient seat at the best tolerably comfortable, no one thought it improper.

It is unnecessary for us to repeat here all that Andrea Barrofaldi thought proper to say in his own justification, and in explanation of the celebrated theory of Bishop Berkeley.  Such a task was not performed in a minute; and, in truth, prolixity, whenever he got upon a favorite theme, was apt to be one of the vice-governatore’s weaknesses.  He was far from acquiescing in the doctrine, though he annoyed his old neighbor exceedingly, by presenting the subject in such a way as to render it respectable in appearance, if not conclusive in argument.  To the latter it was peculiarly unpleasant to imagine, even for the sake of argument, that there was no such island as Elba, and that he was not its podesta; and all his personal and egotistical propensities came in aid of his official reluctance, to disgust him thoroughly with a theory that he did not hesitate to say “was an outrage on every honest man’s nature.”