d covet upon one
side, and what is there upon the other?"

"There is my honour."

"And is it, then, a dishonour to embrace my religion?"

"It would be a dishonour to me to embrace it for the sake of gain
without believing in it."

"Then believe it."

"Alas, sire, a man cannot force himself to believe. Belief is a thing
which must come to him, not he to it."

"On my word, father," said Louis, glancing with a bitter smile at his
Jesuit confessor, "I shall have to pick the cadets of the household from
your seminary, since my officers have turned casuists and theologians.
So, for the last time, you refuse to obey my request?"

"Oh, sire--" De Catinat took a step forward with outstretched hands and
tears in his eyes.

But the king checked him with a gesture. "I desire no protestations,"
said he. "I judge a man by his acts. Do you abjure or not?"

"I cannot, sire."

"You see," said Louis, turning again to the Jesuit, "it will not be as
easy as you think."

"This man is obstinate, it is true, but many others will be more
yielding."

The king shook his head. "I would that I knew what to do," said he.
"Madame, I know that you, at least, will ever give me the best advice.
You have heard all that has been said. What do you recommend?"

She kept her eyes still fixed upon her tapestry, but her voice was firm
and clear as she answered:--

"You have yourself said that you are the eldest son of the Church.
If the eldest son desert her, then who will do her bidding? And there
is truth, too, in what the holy abbe has said. You may imperil your own
soul by condoning this sin of heresy. It grows and flourishes, and if
it be not rooted out now, it may choke the truth as weeds and briers
choke the wheat."

"There are districts in France now," said Bossuet, "where a church is
not to be seen in a day's journey, and where all the folk, from the
nobles to the peasants, are of the same accursed faith. So it is in the
Cevennes, where the people are as fierce and rugged as their own
mountains. Heaven guard the priests who have to bring them back from
their errors."

"Whom should I send on so perilous a task?" asked Louis.

The Abbe du Chayla was down in a instant upon his knees with his gaunt
hands outstretched. "Send me, sire! Me!" he cried. "I have never asked
a favour of you, and never will again. But I am the man who could
break this people. Send me with your message to the people of the
Cevennes."

"God