For Khalid begins to suspect that the Jesuits are the cause of his banishment from home, that his father's religious ferocity is fuelled and fanned by these good people. One day, before Khalid was banished, Shakib tells us, one of them, Father Farouche by name, comes to pay a visit of courtesy, and finds Khalid sitting cross-legged on a mat writing a letter. The Padre is received by Khalid's mother who takes his hand, kisses it, and offers him the seat of honour on the divan. Khalid continues writing. And after he had finished, he turns round in his cross-legged posture and greets his visitor. Which greeting is surely to be followed by a conversation of the sword-and-shield kind. "How is your health?" this from Father Farouche in miserable Arabic. "As you see: I breathe with an effort, and can hardly speak." "But the health of the body is nothing compared with the health of the soul." "I know that too well, O Reverend" (Ya Muhtaram). "And one must have recourse to the physician in both instances." "I do not believe in physicians, O Reverend." "Not even the physician of the soul?" "You said it, O Reverend." The mother of Khalid serves the coffee, and whispers to her son a word. Whereupon Khalid rises and sits on the divan near the Padre. "But one must follow the religion of one's father," the Jesuit resumes. "When one's father has a religion, yes; but when he curses the religion of his son for not being ferociously religious like himself--" "But a father must counsel and guide his children." "Let the mother do that. Hers is the purest and most disinterested spirit of the two." "Then, why not obey your mother, and--" Khalid suppresses his anger. "My mother and I can get along without the interference of our neighbours." "Yes, truly. But you will find great solace in going to Church and ceasing your doubts." Khalid rises indignant. "I only doubt the Pharisees, O Reverend, and their Church I would destroy to-day if I could." "My child--" "Here is your hat, O Reverend, and pardon me--you see, I can hardly speak, I can hardly breathe. Good day." And he walks out of the house, leaving Father Farouche to digest his ire at his ease, and to wonder, with his three-cornered hat in hand, at the savage demeanour of the son of their pious porter. "Your son," addressing the mother as he stands under the door-lintel, "is not only an infidel, but he is also crazy. And for such wretches there is an asylum here and a Juhannam hereafter."