'Some lunatic,' said Melmotte. 'See that there ain't any knives about, Alfred.'
'No otherwise mad, sir, than they have ever been accounted mad who are enthusiastic in their desire for the souls of others.'
'Just get a policeman, Alfred. Or send somebody; you'd better not go away.'
'You will hardly need a policeman, Mr Melmotte,' continued the priest. 'If I might speak to you alone for a few minutes--'
'Certainly not;--certainly not. I am very busy, and if you will not go away you'll have to be taken away. I wonder whether anybody knows him.'
'Mr Carbury, of Carbury Hall, is my friend.'
'Carbury! D--- the Carburys! Did any of the Carburys send you here? A set of beggars! Why don't you do something, Alfred, to get rid of him?'
'You'd better go,' said Lord Alfred. 'Don't make a rumpus, there's a good fellow;--but just go.'
'There shall be no rumpus,' said the priest, waxing wrathful. 'I asked for you at the door, and was told to come in by your own servants. Have I been uncivil that you should treat me in this fashion?'
'You're in the way,' said Lord Alfred.
'It's a piece of gross impertinence,' said Melmotte. 'Go away.'
'Will you not tell me before I go whether I shall pray for you as one whose steps in the right path should be made sure and firm; or as one still in error and in darkness?'
'What the mischief does he mean?' asked Melmotte.
'He wants to know whether you're a papist,' said Lord Alfred.
'What the deuce is it to him?' almost screamed Melmotte;--whereupon Father Barham bowed and took his leave.
'That's a remarkable thing,' said Melmotte,--'very remarkable.' Even this poor priest's mad visit added to his inflation. 'I suppose he was in earnest.'
'Mad as a hatter,' said Lord Alfred.
'But why did he come to me in his madness--to me especially? That's what I want to know. I'll tell you what it is. There isn't a man in all England at this moment thought of so much as--your humble servant. I wonder whether the "Morning Pulpit" people sent him here now to find out really what is my religion.'
'Mad as a hatter,' said Lord Alfred again;--'just that and no more.'
'My dear fellow, I don't think you've the gift of seeing very far. The truth is they don't know what to make of me;--and I don't intend that they shall. I'm playing my game, and there isn't one of 'em understands it except myself. It's no good my sitting here, you know. I shan't be able to move. How am I to get at you if I want anything?'