"Drunk!" cried Errington and Lorimer together. "Jove! you don't mean it?"
Macfarlane looked up with a twinkle of satirical humor in his deep-set grey eyes.
"Ye see," he said seriously, "the Lacrima, or Papist wine as he calls it, was strong--we got him to take a good dose o't--a vera feir dose indeed. Then, doun he sat, an' fell to convairsing vera pheelosophically o' mony things,--it wad hae done ye gude to hear him,--he was fair lost in the mazes o' his metapheesics, for twa flies took a bit saunter through the pleasant dewy lanes o' his forehead, an' he never raised a finger to send them awa' aboot their beeziness. Then I thoet I wad try him wi' the whusky--I had ma pocket flask wi' me--an' O mon! he was sairly glad and gratefu' for the first snack o't! He said it was deevilish fine stuff, an' so he took ane drappikie, an' anither drappikie, and yet anither drappikie,"--Sandy's accent got more and more pronounced as he went on--"an' after a bit, his heed dropt doun, an' he took a wee snoozle of a minute or twa,--then he woke up in a' his strength an' just grappit the flask in his twa hands an' took the hale o't off at a grand, rousin' gulp! Ma certes! after it ye shuld ha' seen him laughin' like a feckless fule, an' rubbin' an' rubbin' his heed, till his hair was like the straw kicked roond by a mad coo!"
Lorimer lay back in the stern of the boat and laughed uproariously at this extraordinary picture, as did the others.
"But that is not all," said Duprèz, with delighted mischief sparkling in his wicked little dark eyes; "the dear religious opened his heart to us. He spoke thickly, but we could understand him. He was very impressive! He is quite of my opinion. He says all religion is nonsense, fable, imposture,--Man is the only god, Woman his creature and subject. Again,--man and woman conjoined, make up divinity, necessity, law. He was quite clear on that point. Why did he preach what he did not believe, we asked? He almost wept! He replied that the children of this world liked fairy-stories and he was paid to tell them. It was his bread and butter,--would we wish him to have no bread and butter? We assured him so cruel a thought had no place in our hearts! Then he is amorous--yes! the good fat man is amorous! He would have become a priest, but on close examination of the confessionals he saw there was no possibility of seeing, much less kissing a lady penitent through the grating. So he gave up that idea! In his form of faith he can kiss, he says,--he does kiss!--always a holy kiss, of course! He is so ingenuous,--so delightfully frank, it is quite charming!"