nterchangeable
terms.

Don Juan smiled. "Have you no pictures in your books, Dona Blanca?
These images are but as pictures for the teaching of the vulgar, that
cannot read. How else should we learn them? If some of the ignorant
make blunder, and bestow to these images better honour than the Church
did mean them, the mistake is theirs. No man really doth worship unto
these, only the vulgar."

"But do not you pray unto the saints?"

"We entreat the saints to pray for us; that is all."

"Then, in the Lord's Supper--the mass, you call it,"--said Blanche,
bringing up at last her strongest battering-ram, "you do hold, as I have
been taught, Don John, that the bread and wine be changed into the very
self body and blood of our Saviour Christ, that it is no more bread and
wine at all. Now how can you believe a matter so plainly confuted by
your very senses?"

"Ah, if I had but your learning and wisdom, Senora!" sighed Don Juan,
apparently from the bottom of his heart.

Blanche felt flattered; but she was not thrown off the scent, as her
admirer intended her to be. She still looked up for the answer; and Don
Juan saw that he must give it.

"Sweetest lady! I am no doctor of the schools, nor have I studied for
the priesthood, that I should be able to expound all matters unto one of
your Grace's marvellous judgment and learning. Yet, not to leave so
fair a questioner without answer--suffer that I ask, your gracious leave
accorded--did not our Lord say thus unto the holy Apostles,--`_Hoc est
corpus mens_,' to wit, `This is My Body?'"

Blanche assented.

"In what manner, then, was it thus?"

"Only as a memorial or representation thereof, we do hold, Don John."

"Good: as the child doth present [represent] the father, being of the
like substance, no less than appearance,--as saith the blessed Saint
Augustine, and also the blessed Jeronymo, and others of the holy Fathers
of the Church, right from the time of our Lord and His Apostles."

Don Juan had never read a line of the works of Jerome or Augustine.
Fortunately for him, neither had Blanche,--a chance on which he safely
calculated. Blanche was completely puzzled. She sat looking out of the
window, and thinking with little power, and to small purpose. She had
not an idea when Augustine lived, nor whether he read the service in his
own tongue in a surplice, or celebrated the Latin mass in full
pontificals. And if it were true that all the Fathers, down from t