go on unbroken for years and years."

"I have no idea that it will," said the Abbe grimly. "That rope of
friendship may snap untimely."

"Upon my soul, you croak like a raven!" testily broke in M. Rossignol,
who was present. "I didn't know there was so much in common between you
and my surly-jowled groom. He gets his pleasure out of croaking. 'Wait,
wait, you'll see--you'll see! Death, death, death--every man must die!
The devil has you by the hair--death--death--death!' Bah! I'm heartily
sick of croakers. I suppose, like my grunting groom, you'll say about
the Passion Play, 'No good will come of it--wait--wait--wait!' Bah!"

"It may not be an unmixed good," answered the ascetic.

"Well, and is there any such thing on earth as an unmixed good? The
play yesterday was worth a thousand sermons. It was meant to serve Holy
Church, and it will serve it. Was there ever anything more real--and
touching--than Paulette Dubois as Mary Magdalene yesterday?"

"I do not approve of such reality. For that woman to play the part is to
destroy the impersonality of the scene."

"You would demand that the Christus should be a good man, and the St.
John blameless--why shouldn't the Magdalene be a repentant woman?"

"It might impress the people more, if the best woman in your parish were
to play the part. The fall of virtue, the ruin of innocence, would be
vividly brought home. It does good to make the innocent feel the
terror and shame of sin. That is the price the good pay for the fall of
man--sorrow and shame for those who sin." The Seigneur, rising quickly
from the table, and kicking his chair back, said angrily: "Damn
your theories!" Then, seeing the frozen look on his brother's face,
continued, more excitedly: "Yes, damn, damn, damn your theories! You
always took the crass view. I beg your pardon, Cure--I beg your pardon."

He then went to the window, threw it open, and called to his groom.

"Hi, there, coffin-face," he said, "bring round the horses--the quietest
one in the stable for my brother--you hear? He can't ride," he added
maliciously.

This was his fiercest stroke, for the Abbe's secret vanity was the
belief that he looked well on a horse, and rode handsomely.

CHAPTER LV. ROSALIE PLAYS A PART

From a tree upon a little hill rang out a bell--a deep-toned bell,
bought by the parish years before for the missions held at this very
spot. Every day it rang for an instant at the beginning of each of the
five acts