“I repeat, I did not speak to you,” said Moretti, his eyes sparkling with fury,—­“To me you are a heretic, accursed, and excommunicate!—­ thrust out of salvation, and beyond my province to deal with!”

“Oh, that a man should be thrust out of salvation in these Christian days!” exclaimed Cyrillon with a flashing look of scorn, “And that he should find a servant of Christ to tell him so!  Accursed and excommunicate!  Then I am a kind of leper in the social community!  And you, as a disciple of your Master, should heal me of my infirmity—­and cleanse me of my Leprosy!  Loathsome as leprosy is whether of mind or body, Christ never thrust it out of salvation!”

“The leper must wish to be cleansed!” said Moretti fiercely, “If he does not himself seek to be healed of his evil, no miracle can help him.”

“Oh but I do seek!” And young Vergniaud threw back his handsome head with a splendid gesture of appeal, “With all my soul, if I am diseased, I wish to be cleansed!  Will you cleanse me?  Can you?  I wish to stand up whole and pure, face to face with the Divine in this world, and praise Him for His goodness to me.  But surely if He is to be found anywhere it is in the Spirit of Truth!  Not in any sort of a lie!  Now, according to His own words the Holy Ghost is the Spirit of Truth.  ’When the Spirit of Truth is come He will guide you into all Truth.’  And what then?  Monsignor, it is somewhat dangerous to oppose the Spirit of Truth, whether that Force speak through the innocent lips of a child or the diseased ones of a leper!  ’For whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of Man it shall be forgiven him, but whosoever speaketh against the holy ghost’—­or the Spirit of Truth, known sometimes as Inspiration . . .  “It shall not be forgiven him in this world, neither in the world to come.’  That is a terrible curse, which an ocean of Holy Water could scarcely wash away!”

“Your argument is wide of the mark,” said Moretti, impatiently, yet forced in spite of himself to defend his position, “the Church is not opposed to Truth but to Atheism.”

“Atheism!  There is no such thing as a real atheist in the world!” declared Cyrillon passionately, “No reasoning human being alive, that has not felt the impress of the Divine Image in himself and in all the universe around him!  He may, through apathy and the falsehoods of priestcraft, have descended into callousness, indifference and egotism, but he knows well that that impress cannot be stamped out—­that he will have to account for his part, however small it be, in the magnificent pageant of life and work, for he has not been sent into it ‘on chance.’  Inasmuch as if there is chance in one thing there must be chance in another, and the solar system is too mathematically designed to be a haphazard arrangement.  With all our cleverness, our logic, our geometrical skill, we can do nothing so exact!  As part of the solar system, you and I have our trifling business to enact, Monsignor,—­and to enact it properly, and with satisfaction to our Supreme Employer, it seems to me that if we are honest with the world and with each other, we shall be on the right road.”