traitor, if he was a
traitor. I mean the men who must have known the truth. Now Dreyfus
went on like a man who knew he was a wronged man. And yet the French
statesmen and soldiers went on as if they knew he wasn't a wronged man
but simply a wrong 'un. I don't mean they behaved well; I mean they
behaved as if they were sure. I can't describe these things; I know what
I mean."

"I wish I did," said his friend. "And what has it to do with old
Hirsch?"

"Suppose a person in a position of trust," went on the priest, "began to
give the enemy information because it was false information. Suppose
he even thought he was saving his country by misleading the foreigner.
Suppose this brought him into spy circles, and little loans were made
to him, and little ties tied on to him. Suppose he kept up his
contradictory position in a confused way by never telling the foreign
spies the truth, but letting it more and more be guessed. The better
part of him (what was left of it) would still say: 'I have not helped
the enemy; I said it was the left drawer.' The meaner part of him would
already be saying: 'But they may have the sense to see that means the
right.' I think it is psychologically possible--in an enlightened age,
you know."

"It may be psychologically possible," answered Flambeau, "and it
certainly would explain Dreyfus being certain he was wronged and his
judges being sure he was guilty. But it won't wash historically, because
Dreyfus's document (if it was his document) was literally correct."

"I wasn't thinking of Dreyfus," said Father Brown.

Silence had sunk around them with the emptying of the tables; it was
already late, though the sunlight still clung to everything, as if
accidentally entangled in the trees. In the stillness Flambeau shifted
his seat sharply--making an isolated and echoing noise--and threw his
elbow over the angle of it. "Well," he said, rather harshly, "if Hirsch
is not better than a timid treason-monger..."

"You mustn't be too hard on them," said Father Brown gently. "It's not
entirely their fault; but they have no instincts. I mean those things
that make a woman refuse to dance with a man or a man to touch an
investment. They've been taught that it's all a matter of degree."

"Anyhow," cried Flambeau impatiently, "he's not a patch on my principal;
and I shall go through with it. Old Dubosc may be a bit mad, but he's a
sort of patriot after all."

Father Brown continued to consume whitebait.