happiness as a proof of superiority.

Gerfaut, standing, gazed gloomily at Clemence, who leaned toward her
husband and seemed to listen eagerly to his slightest word. Bergenheim
was a faithful admirer of the classics, as are all country gentlemen,
who introduce a sentiment of propriety into their literary opinions
and prefer the ancient writers to the modern, for the reason that their
libraries are much richer in old works than in modern books. The Baron
unmercifully sacrificed Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas, whom he
had never read, upon the altar of Racine and Corneille, of which he
possessed two or three editions, and yet it would have embarrassed him
to recite half a dozen verses from them. Marillac boldly defended the
cause of contemporary literature, which he considered as a personal
matter, and poured out a profusion of sarcastic remarks in which there
was more wit than good taste.

"The gods fell from Olympus, why should they not also fall from
Parnassus?" said the artist, finally, with a triumphant air. "Say what
you will, Bergenheim, your feeble opposition will not prevail against
the instincts of the age. The future is ours, let me tell you, and we
are the high priests of the new religion; is it not so, Gerfaut?"

At these words, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil shook her head, gravely.

"A new religion!" said she; "if this pretension should be verified you
would only be guilty of heresy, and, without allowing myself to be taken
in, I can understand how elevated minds and enthusiastic hearts might
be attracted by the promises of a deceptive Utopia; but you, gentlemen,
whom I believe to be sincere, do you not see to what an extent you
delude yourselves? What you call religion is the most absolute negation
of religious principles; it is the most distressing impiety ornamented
with a certain sentimental hypocrisy which has not even the courage
frankly to proclaim its principles."

"I swear to you, Mademoiselle, that I am religious three days out of
four," replied Marillac; "that is something; there are some Christians
who are pious only on Sunday."

"Materialism is the source from which modern literature takes its
inspiration," continued the old lady; "and this poisonous stream not
only dries up the thoughts which would expand toward heaven, but also
withers all that is noble in human sentiment. To-day, people are not
content to deny God, because they are not pure enough to comprehend
Him; they disown even the w