es', which contains, he says,
the description of all sorts of loves. He flatters himself that in it he
has shown himself a criminal with some elegance. But far from harming his
mystic undertakings, this book favors them in this sense, that, corrected
by his later work, he will become honest and exemplary; and the gold that
he has received in payment, which would not have been paid to him for a
more chaste volume, will serve for a pilgrimage to Assisi."

Madame Martin asked how much of this story was really true. Vence replied
that she must not try to learn.

He confessed that he was the idealist historian of the poet, and that the
adventures which he related of him were not to be taken in the literal
and Judaic sense.

He affirmed that at least Choulette was publishing Les Blandices, and
desired to visit the cell and the grave of St. Francis.

"Then," exclaimed Madame Martin, "I will take him to Italy with me. Find
him, Monsieur Vence, and bring him to me. I am going next week."

M. Martin then excused himself, not being able to remain longer. He had
to finish a report which was to be laid before the Chamber the next day.

Madame Martin said that nobody interested her so much as Choulette. Paul
Vence said that he was a singular specimen of humanity.

"He is not very different from the saints of whose extraordinary lives we
read. He is as sincere as they. He has an exquisite delicacy of sentiment
and a terrible violence of mind. If he shocks one by many of his acts,
the reason is that he is weaker, less supported, or perhaps less closely
observed. And then there are unworthy saints, just as there are bad
angels: Choulette is a worldly saint, that is all. But his poems are true
poems, and much finer than those written by the bishops of the
seventeenth century."

She interrupted him:

"While I think of it, I wish to congratulate you on your friend
Dechartre. He has a charming mind."

She added:

"Perhaps he is a little too timid."

Vence reminded her that he had told her she would find Dechartre
interesting.

"I know him by heart; he has been my friend since our childhood."

"You knew his parents?"

"Yes. He is the only son of Philippe Dechartre."

"The architect?"

"The architect who, under Napoleon III, restored so many castles and
churches in Touraine and the Orleanais. He had taste and knowledge.
Solitary and quiet in his life, he had the imprudence to attack
Viollet-le-Duc, then all-powerful. He