Man-God. The word filtered through his intelligence. How strange it sounded. The Man-God--what could it mean. A sudden change. A life of glory and intrigue. Food on platters of gold, sparkling wines and laughter. A diamond cross, an imperial gift, the reward of faithful services. Everybody cringing. Showers of bribes. Women--always women. A divine life! Nothing but women.... Darkness. Something had happened; they had carried him into a place full of endless penances, floggings, starvings. Then they accused him of doing wrong. What was it? The flesh of warm-blooded beasts.... He had preferred the service of God to that of his earthly master. For this they banished him and made him suffer. He was dying now--dying to save mankind. He was giving up his life for sinners. Someone else had once done the same thing. Who was it? He could not remember. People who read and write--they know these things. Some saint, possibly; or at least a man from another province--someone he had never met or spoken to. A good Russian, whoever it was. But the name--the name had slipped out of his mind. He always had a good memory for faces, but a bad one for names. He was so ill and oppressed too. Worse than before. He felt himself rotting earthwards, like a fungus of his own native forests under autumn rains. His body remained inert but his eye, roaming away from the straw pallet, fixed itself upon the door. When, when would that kindly gentleman with the instrument arrive? CHAPTER XXXVII Concerning the life and death of Saint Eulalia, patroness of Nepenthean sailors, we possess ample and accurate information.