; if the
Abbe Plomb is well informed, their fate depends on the caprice of the
Abbot, who can tighten or loosen the halter according to his more or
less domineering character. But is that quite certain? There were always
oblates throughout the Middle Ages; consequently they are controlled by
the secular law!

"And all this is so human, so vile! For it is not a matter of disputing
texts and more or less accommodating clauses. It is a case of subjection
without reserve, of leaping boldly into the water; of giving oneself up
entirely to God. Any other view of the cloister is to regard it as a
citizen's home, and that is absurd. My apprehensions, my antagonism, my
compromises, are disgraceful!

"Yes; but where can I find the necessary strength to brush myself clean
from this dust of the soul?"

And at last, when he felt himself bruised by these alternating desires
and fears, he took refuge with Notre Dame de Sous-Terre.

The crypt was closed in the afternoon, but he found his way in by a
small door in the sacristy inside the cathedral, and descended into
utter darkness.

Having reached the crypt in front of the altar, he round once more the
doubtful but soothing odour of that vault, smoked by burning tapers, and
went forward in the soft, warm atmosphere of frankincense and a cellar.
It was even darker than in the early morning, for the lamps were out;
floating wicks only, shining through what looked like very thin
orange-peel, threw gleams of tarnished gold on the sooty walls.

As he turned, with his back to the altar, he could see the low aisle in
retreating perspective, and at the end, as in a tunnel, the light of
day--unluckily, for it allowed him to discern certain hideous paintings
of scenes commemorating the ecclesiastical glories of Chartres: the
visit paid to the cathedral by Mary de' Medici and Henri IV.; Louis
XIII. and his mother; Monsieur Olier offering to the Virgin the keys of
the Seminary of Saint Sulpice with a dress of gold brocade; Louis XIV.
at the feet of Notre Dame de Sous-Terre; by the grace of heaven, the
remaining frescoes seemed extinct; at any rate, they lay in shadow.

What was really blissful was to be alone with the Virgin, who looked
down, her dark face gleaming dimly in the gloom when a wick happened to
flicker with short flashes of brighter light.

Durtal, kneeling before Her, determined to address Her, to say to Her,--

"I am afraid of the future and of its cloudy sky, and I am afr