Cordeliers; but the Jesuits are the
closest at hand. Shall I send for a confessor belonging to the order of
Jesuits?"

"Yes, immediately."

It will be imagined that, at the sign of the cross which they had
exchanged, the landlord and the invalid monk had recognized each other
as two affiliated members of the well-known Society of Jesus. Left to
himself, the Franciscan drew from his pocket a bundle of papers, some of
which he read over with the most careful attention. The violence of
his disorder, however, overcame his courage; his eyes rolled in their
sockets, a cold sweat poured down his face, and he nearly fainted, and
lay with his head thrown backwards and his arms hanging down on both
sides of his chair. For more than five minutes he remained without any
movement, when the landlord returned, bringing with him the physician,
whom he hardly allowed time to dress himself. The noise they made in
entering the room, the current of air, which the opening of the door
occasioned, restored the Franciscan to his senses. He hurriedly seized
hold of the papers which were lying about, and with his long and bony
hand concealed them under the cushions of the chair. The landlord went
out of the room, leaving patient and physician together.

"Come here, Monsieur Grisart," said the Franciscan to the doctor;
"approach closer, for there is no time to lose. Try, by touch and sound,
and consider and pronounce your sentence."

"The landlord," replied the doctor, "told me I had the honor of
attending an affiliated brother."

"Yes," replied the Franciscan, "it is so. Tell me the truth, then; I
feel very ill, and I think I am about to die."

The physician took the monk's hand, and felt his pulse. "Oh, oh," he
said, "a dangerous fever."

"What do you call a dangerous fever?" inquired the Franciscan, with an
imperious look.

"To an affiliated member of the first or second year," replied the
physician, looking inquiringly at the monk, "I should say--a fever that
may be cured."

"But to me?" said the Franciscan. The physician hesitated.

"Look at my grey hair, and my forehead, full of anxious thought," he
continued: "look at the lines in my face, by which I reckon up the
trials I have undergone; I am a Jesuit of the eleventh year, Monsieur
Grisart." The physician started, for, in fact, a Jesuit of the eleventh
year was one of those men who had been initiated in all the secrets
of the order, one of those for whom science has no more