“What’s that?  I mustn’t trouble myself about that?  But—­Oh!  Dr. Waterman has been here, has he?  That’s very kind—­very kind and thoughtful indeed.  And I’m to take my time, am I?  Very well.  Please thank Dr. Waterman for his kindness and his thoughtfulness in enquiring. . . .  And tell him I’ll be with him again in a day or two at any rate. . . .  Oh! tell him that he’ll find the references to the thirteenth-century Popes in the black notebook—­the thick one—­on the right of the fire-place.  They’re all verified.  Thank you, thank you very much. . . . and . . . by the way . . . just tell him I’m not sure yet about the Piccolomini matter. . . .  What’s that?  I’m not to trouble myself? . . .  But . . .  Oh! very well.  Thank you. . . .  Thank you very much.”

There followed a long pause.  He was thinking still very hard about the thirteenth-century Popes.  It was really very tiresome that he could not explain to Dr. Waterman himself.  He was certain that some of the pages in the thick black notebook were loose; and how terrible it would be if the book were taken out carelessly, and some of the pages fell into the fire.  They easily might!  And then there’d be all the work to do again. . . .  And that would mean weeks and weeks. . . .

Then there came a grave, quiet voice of a woman speaking in his ear; but for a long time he could not understand.  He wished it would let him alone.  He wanted to think about the Popes.  He tried nodding and murmuring a general sort of assent, as if he wished to go to sleep; but it was useless:  the voice went on and on.  And then suddenly he understood, and a kind of fury seized him.

How did they know he had once been a priest?  Spying and badgering, as usual! . . .  No:  he did not want a priest sent for.  He was not a priest any more; not even a Catholic.  It was all lies—­lies from the beginning to the end—­all that they had taught him in the seminary.  It was all lies!  There!  Was that plain enough? . . .

Ah! why would not the voice be quiet? . . .  He was in great danger, was he?  He would be unconscious again soon, would he?  Well, he didn’t know what they meant by that; but what had it to do with him?  No:  he did not want a priest.  Was that clear enough? . . .  He was perfectly clear-headed; he knew what he was saying. . . .  Yes; even if he were in great danger . . . even if he were practically certain to die. (That, by the way, was impossible; because he had to finish the notes for Dr. Waterman’s new History of the Popes; and it would take months.) Anyhow, he didn’t want a priest.  He knew all about that:  he had faced it all, and he wasn’t afraid.  Science had knocked all that religious nonsense on the head.  There wasn’t any religion.  All religions were the same.  There wasn’t any truth in any of them.  Physical science had settled one half of the matter, and psychology the other half.  It was all accounted for.  So he didn’t want a priest anyhow.  Damn priests!  There! would they let him alone after that? . . .