Part One Saint and Sceptic Chapter 2 Confession

"Theos Alwyn, the English author, I presume?" interposed the monk interrogatively.

"Why, yes!" this in accents of extreme surprise--"how did you know that!"

"Your celebrity," politely suggested Heliobas, with a wave of the hand and an enigmatical smile that might have meant anything or nothing.

Alwyn colored a little. "Your mistake," he said indifferently, "I have no celebrity. The celebrities of my country are few, and among them those most admired are jockeys and divorced women. I merely follow in the rear-line of the art or profession of literature--I am that always unluckiest and most undesirable kind of an author, a writer of verse--I lay no claim, not now at any rate, to the title of poet. While recently staying in Paris I chanced to hear of you ..."

The monk bowed ever so slightly--there was a dawning gleam of satire in his brilliant eyes.

"You won special distinction and renown there, I believe, before you adopted this monastic life?" pursued Alwyn, glancing at him curiously.

"Did I?" and Heliobas looked cheerfully interested. "Really I was not aware of it, I assure you! Possibly my ways and doings may have occasionally furnished the Parisians with something to talk about instead of the weather, and I know I made some few friends and an astonishing number of enemies, if that is what you mean by distinction and renown!"