n the mild gloom of its crypt;
but I can now reason about it, I can scrutinize its details, I try to
talk to it of art, and in these inquiries I have lost the unreasoning
sense of its environment, the silent fascination of the whole.

"I am less conscious now of its soul than of its body. I tried to study
archaeology, that contemptible anatomy of building, and I have fallen
humanly in love with its beauty; the spiritual aspect has vanished, to
leave nothing behind but the earthly part. Alas! I was determined to
see, and I have wrecked trust; it is the eternal allegory of Psyche over
again!

"And besides--besides--is not the weariness that is crushing me to some
extent the fault of the Abbe Gevresin? By compelling me to much
repetition he has exhausted in me the soothing and, at the same time,
subversive virtue of the Sacrament; and the most evident result of this
treatment is that my soul has collapsed and has no spirit to
reinvigorate it.

"No, no," he went on presently. "Here I am working back on my perennial
presumption, my incessant round of cares; and once more I am unjust to
the Abbe. But it is certainly no fault of his if frequent Communion
makes me cold. I look for sensations; but the very first thing should be
to convince myself that such cravings are contemptible, and next, to
understand clearly that it is precisely because Communion is so frigid
that it is the more meritorious and virtuous, yes, that is very easy to
say; but where is the Catholic who prefers such coldness to a glow? The
saints may, no doubt; but even they suffer under it! It is so natural to
entreat God for a little joy, to look forward to an Union consummated by
a loving word, a sign--a mere nothing that may show that He is present.

"Say what they may, we cannot help being pained by a dead absorption of
that living bread! And it is very hard to admit that Our Lord is wise
when He keeps us in ignorance of the ills from which it preserves us and
the progress it enables us to make, since, but for that, we might be
defenceless against the attacks of self-conceit and the assaults of
vanity--helpless against ourselves.

"In short, whatever the reason, I am no better off at Chartres than in
Paris," was his conclusion. And when these reflections beset him,
especially on Sundays, he regretted having accompanied the Abbe Gevresin
into the country.

In Paris, in old days, he at any rate got through the hours at the
services. He could attend Mas