h advice as to ecclesiastical preferment.

Mazarin's astonishment and disgust when he heard that Vincent de Paul
had been appointed one of the number were as great as Vincent's own
consternation. The responsibility and the difficulties which he would
have to face filled the humble Mission Priest with the desire to
escape such an honor at any price; he even applied to the Queen in
person to beg her to reconsider her decision.

But Anne was obdurate, and Vincent was forced to yield. "I have never
been more worthy of compassion or in greater need of prayers than
now," he wrote to one of his friends, and his forebodings were not
without cause. If Mazarin had been unable to prevent the Queen from
naming Vincent as one of the Council of Conscience, he had at least
succeeded in securing his own nomination. In the cause of honesty and
justice, and for the Church's welfare, the Superior of St. Lazare
would have to contend with the foremost statesman of the day, a
Minister who had built up his reputation by trading on the vices of
men who were less cunning than he. Well did Vincent know that he was
no match for such a diplomatist; but having once realized that the
duty must be undertaken, he determined that there should be no
flinching.

He went to Court in the old cassock in which he went about his daily
work, and which was probably the only one he had. "You are not going
to the palace in that cassock?" cried one of the Mission Priests in
consternation.

"Why not?" replied Vincent quietly; "it is neither stained nor torn."

The answer was noteworthy, for a scrupulous cleanliness was
characteristic of the man. As he passed through the long galleries of
the Louvre he caught sight of his homely face and figure in one of the
great mirrors that lined the walls. "A nice clodhopper you are!" he
said amiably to his own reflection, and passed on, smiling.

Among the magnificently attired courtiers his shabby appearance
created not a little merriment. "Admire the beautiful sash in which M.
Vincent comes to Court," said Mazarin one day to the Queen, laying
hold of the coarse woolen braid that did duty with poor country
priests for the handsome silken sash worn by the prelates who
frequented the palace. Vincent only smiled--these were not the things
that abashed him; he made no change in his attire.

At first it seemed as if his influence were to be paramount in the
Council. Nearly all the priests of Paris had passed through his han