at it must return. Giving, therefore, a little rest to his hitherto
indefatigable mind, he had been awaiting, for the first time in his life
perhaps, without impatience, the return of the couriers he had sent in
all directions, like the rays of a sun which alone gave life and movement
to France. He had not expected the visit he now received, and the sight
of one of those men, whom, to use his own expression, he "steeped in
crime," rendered all the habitual disquietudes of his life more present
to him, without entirely dissipating the cloud of melancholy which at
that time obscured his thoughts.

The beginning of his conversation was tinged with the gloomy hue of his
late reveries; but he soon became more animated and vigorous than ever,
when his powerful mind had reentered the real world.

His confidant, seeing that he was expected to break the silence, did so
in this abrupt fashion:

"Well, my lord, of what are you thinking?"

"Alas, Joseph, of what should we all think, but of our future happiness
in a better life? For many days I have been reflecting that human
interests have too much diverted me from this great thought; and I repent
me of having spent some moments of my leisure in profane works, such as
my tragedies, 'Europe' and 'Mirame,' despite the glory they have already
gained me among our brightest minds--a glory which will extend unto
futurity."

Father Joseph, full of what he had to say, was at first surprised at this
opening; but he knew his master too well to betray his feelings, and,
well skilled in changing the course of his ideas, replied:

"Yes, their merit is very great, and France will regret that these
immortal works are not followed by similar productions."

"Yes, my dear Joseph; but it is in vain that such men as Boisrobert,
Claveret, Colletet, Corneille, and, above all, the celebrated Mairet,
have proclaimed these tragedies the finest that the present or any past
age has produced. I reproach myself for them, I swear to you, as for a
mortal sin, and I now, in my hours of repose, occupy myself only with my
'Methode des Controverses', and my book on the 'Perfection du Chretien.'
I remember that I am fifty-six years old, and that I have an incurable
malady."

"These are calculations which your enemies make as precisely as your
Eminence," said the priest, who began to be annoyed with this
conversation, and was eager to talk of other matters.

The blood mounted to the Cardinal's face.

"I kn