them. I will give them my proofs, submit my main reasons. Let there be no faltering now, no apathy.”
Then, suddenly, he skipped a whole series of arguments and brusquely brought the lecture to an end, as if he had cut it with a knife. The Aristotelians were not satisfied; several speakers arose to put questions and submit objections.
Boura only half understood them; hearing his own ideas from the lips of others, they appeared still more unfamiliar and yet self-evident.
“What is the use of defending them?” he asked himself sullenly. “Since this bears no relation to me, since it is just truth and has nothing to do with my own personality.” He was speaking with difficulty now, with artificial concentration, but he felt his arguments were going home and he was winning new adherents to his views.
“But they are not my views,” he reflected with astonishment.
A new opponent sprang up: with tousled hair, he looked particularly ferocious.
He spoke combatively: “I beg of you to give us your definition of truth.”
“This is not a noetical lecture,” retorted Boura.
“Yet,” persisted the man sarcastically, “it would interest me vastly.”
“Don’t get off the subject,” shouted the Aristotelians.
The hirsute fellow smiled: “Excuse me, my question is relevant to the subject.”
“Nonsense,” growled the Society.
“The gentleman is perfectly right,” said Boura.
“In that case, please answer,” repeated the opponent.
Boura rose: “I beg the Society to close the debate.”
The Aristotelians were astonished.
The President said: “It would be better to go on with the discussion to the end. I am only observing precedent in the Society, however, and have no desire to dictate to you.”
Boura said brusquely: ““I have nothing to add to my lecture.”
The Aristotelians laughed.
The sitting had become a fiasco and the President had
