r his forehead, and beautiful bishop's hands. As he becomes calm he
has an imposing way of gently resettling himself in his sacerdotal
dignity. To sum up: his is a physiognomy full of passion, consumed
with zeal, yet still frank and sincere.

I was hardly seated, when with a motion of the hand he invited me to
speak.

"Monseigneur!" I said, "I come to you (you understand me?) as to my
last resource. What I am now doing is almost an act of despair; for it
might seem at first sight that no member of the family of Mademoiselle
de Courteheuse must show himself more pitiless than yourself towards
the faults with which I am reproached. I am an unbeliever: you are an
apostle! And yet, Monseigneur, it is often at the hands of saintly
priests, such as yourself, that the guilty find most indulgence. And
then, I am not indeed guilty: I have but wandered. I am refused the
hand of your niece because I do not share her faith--your own faith.
But, Monseigneur, unbelief is not a crime, it is a misfortune. I know
people often say, a man denies God when by his own conduct he has
brought himself into a condition in which he may well desire that God
does not exist. In this way he is made guilty, or, in a sense,
responsible for his incredulity. For myself, Monseigneur, I have
consulted my conscience with an entire sincerity; and although my youth
has been amiss, I am certain that my atheism proceeds from no sentiment
of personal interest. On the contrary, I may tell you with truth that
the day on which I perceived my faith come to nought, the day on which
I lost hope in God, I shed the bitterest tears of my life. In spite of
appearances, I am not so light a spirit as people think. I am not one
of those for whom God, when He disappears, [228] leaves no sense of a
void place. Believe me!--a man may love sport, his club, his worldly
habits, and yet have his hours of thought, of self-recollection. Do
you suppose that in those hours one does not feel the frightful
discomfort of an existence with no moral basis, without principles,
with no outlook beyond this world? And yet, what can one do? You
would tell me forthwith, in the goodness, the compassion, which I read
in your eyes; Confide to me your objections to religion, and I will try
to solve them. Monseigneur, I should hardly know how to answer you.
My objections are 'Legion!' They are without number, like the stars in
the sky: they come to us on all sides, from every quarte