He laughed nervously as he spoke and, looking up into Stephen's face with moved and friendly eyes, said:
—Do you know that you are an excitable man?—
—I daresay I am—said Stephen, laughing also.
Their minds, lately estranged, seemed suddenly to have been drawn closer, one to the other.
—Do you believe in the eucharist?—Cranly asked.
—I do not—Stephen said.
—Do you disbelieve then?—
—I neither believe in it nor disbelieve in it—Stephen answered.
—Many persons have doubts, even religious persons, yet they overcome them or put them aside—Cranly said.—Are your doubts on that point too strong?—
—I do not wish to overcome them—Stephen answered.
Cranly, embarrassed for a moment, took another fig from his pocket and was about to eat it when Stephen said:
—Don't, please. You cannot discuss this question with your mouth full of chewed fig.—
Cranly examined the fig by the light of a lamp under which he halted. Then he smelt it with both nostrils, bit a tiny piece, spat it out and threw the fig rudely into the gutter. Addressing it as it lay, he said:
—Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire!—
Taking Stephen's arms, he went on again and said:
—Do you not fear that those words may be spoken to you on the day of Judgement?—
—What is offered me on the other hand?—Stephen asked.—An eternity of bliss in the company of the dean of studies?—
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