.

"But if he does go to law," continued Monsieur de Bourbonne, coldly,
"I should advise him to resign his vicariat."

"We will consult lawyers," said Madame de Listomere, "and go to law if
law is best. But this affair is so disgraceful for Mademoiselle
Gamard, and is likely to be so injurious to the Abbe Troubert, that I
think we can compromise."

After mature deliberation all present promised their assistance to the
Abbe Birotteau in the struggle which was now inevitable between the
poor priest and his antagonists and all their adherents. A true
presentiment, an infallible provincial instinct, led them to couple
the names of Gamard and Troubert. But none of the persons assembled on
this occasion in Madame de Listomere's salon, except the old fox, had
any real idea of the nature and importance of such a struggle.
Monsieur de Bourbonne took the poor abbe aside into a corner of the
room.

"Of the fourteen persons now present," he said, in a low voice, "not
one will stand by you a fortnight hence. If the time comes when you
need some one to support you you may find that I am the only person in
Tours bold enough to take up your defence; for I know the provinces
and men and things, and, better still, I know self-interests. But
these friends of yours, though full of the best intentions, are
leading you astray into a bad path, from which you won't be able to
extricate yourself. Take my advice; if you want to live in peace,
resign the vicariat of Saint-Gatien and leave Tours. Don't say where
you are going, but find some distant parish where Troubert cannot get
hold of you."

"Leave Tours!" exclaimed the vicar, with indescribable terror.

To him it was a kind of death; the tearing up of all the roots by
which he held to life. Celibates substitute habits for feelings; and
when to that moral system, which makes them pass through life instead
of really living it, is added a feeble character, external things
assume an extraordinary power over them. Birotteau was like certain
vegetables; transplant them, and you stop their ripening. Just as a
tree needs daily the same sustenance, and must always send its roots
into the same soil, so Birotteau needed to trot about Saint-Gatien,
and amble along the Mail where he took his daily walk, and saunter
through the streets, and visit the three salons where, night after
night, he played his whist or his backgammon.

"Ah! I did not think of it!" replied Monsieur de Bourbonne, gazing at