“Well, no, then! I didn’t see the Pope,” burst out Julius at last, containing himself no longer, “but I became possessed of a secret--a secret which, though almost incredible at first, received sudden confirmation from our dear Amédée’s death--an appalling--a bewildering secret--but one from which your faith, dear Anthime, will be able to draw comfort. You must know, then, that the Pope is innocent of the injustice of which you were the victim....” “Tut! I never for a moment doubted it.” “Listen to me, Anthime--I didn’t see the Pope--because he is not to be seen. The person who is actually seated on the pontifical throne, who is obeyed by the Church, who promulgates--the person who spoke to me--the Pope who is to be seen at the Vatican--the Pope whom I saw--_is not the real one_.” At these words Anthime began to shake all over with a fit of loud laughter. “Laugh away! Laugh away!” went on Julius, nettled. “I laughed too, to begin with. If I had laughed a little less, Fleurissoire would not have been murdered. Ah! poor dear saint that he was! Poor lamb of a victim!...” His voice trailed off into sobs. “What? What? Do you mean to say that this ridiculous story is really true? Dear me! Dear me!...” said Armand-Dubois, who was disturbed by Julius’s pathos. “All the same, this must be inquired into....” “It was for inquiring into it that he met his death.” “Because if after all I’ve sacrificed my fortune, my position, my science--if I’ve consented to be made a fool of ...” continued Anthime, who was gradually becoming excited in his turn. “But I tell you the _real_ one is in no way responsible for any of that. The person who made a fool of you is a mere man of straw put up by the Quirinal.” “Am I really to believe what you say?” “If you don’t believe me, you can at any rate believe our poor martyr here.” They both remained silent for a few minutes. It had stopped raining; a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds. The carriage slowly jolted into Rome. “In that case, I know what remains for me to do,” went on Anthime in his most decided voice. “I shall give the whole show away.” Julius started with horror. “My dear friend, you terrify me. You’ll get yourself excommunicated for a certainty.” “By whom? If it’s by a sham Pope, I don’t care a damn!” “And I, who thought I should help you to extract some consolatory virtue out of this secret,” went on Julius, in dismay. “You’re joking!... And who knows but what Fleurissoire, when he gets to heaven, won’t find after all that his Almighty isn’t the _real_ God either?” “Come, come, my dear Anthime, you’re rambling! As if there _could_ be two! As if there could be another!” “It’s all very easy for you to talk--you, who have never in your life given up anything for Him--you, who profit by everything--true or false. Oh! I’ve had enough! I want some fresh air!”