ious, therefore, to see Catholicism preserved; it
had devoured many victims in the times of its vigour, but nowadays,
burdened by the weight of years and with enfeebled appetite, it was
content with roasting four or five heretics in a hundred years.

"As a matter of fact," he concluded, "I have always got on very well
with your God-eaters and Christ-worshippers. I kept a chaplain at Les
Ilettes, where Mass was said every Sunday and all my guests attended.
The philosophers were the most devout while the opera girls showed the
most fervour. I was prosperous then and had crowds of friends."

"Friends," exclaimed the Pere Longuemare, "friends! Ah! sir, do you
really think they loved you, all these philosophers and all these
courtesans, who have degraded your soul in such wise that God himself
would find it hard to know it for one of the temples built by Him for
His glory?"

* * * * *

The Pere Longuemare lived for a week longer at the publican's without
being interfered with. As far as possible he observed the discipline of
his House and every night at the canonical hours would rise from his
palliasse to kneel on the bare boards and recite the offices. Though
both were reduced to a diet of wretched scraps, he duly observed fasts
and abstinence. A smiling but pitiful spectator of these austerities,
Brotteaux one day asked him:

"Do you really believe that God finds any satisfaction in seeing you
endure cold and hunger as you do?"

"God himself," was the Monk's answer, "has given us the example of
suffering."

On the ninth day since the Barnabite had come to share the
philosopher's garret, the latter sallied forth at twilight to
deliver his dancing-dolls to Joly, the toy-merchant of the Rue
Neuve-des-Petits-Champs. He was on his way back overjoyed at having sold
them all, when, as he was crossing the erstwhile Place du Carrousel, a
girl in a blue satin pelisse trimmed with ermine, running by with a
limping gait, threw herself into his arms and held him fast in the way
suppliants have had since the world began.

She was trembling and her heart was beating so fast and loud it could be
plainly heard. Wondering to see one of her common sort look so pathetic,
Brotteaux, a veteran amateur of the stage, thought how Mademoiselle
Raucourt, if she could have seen her, might have learnt something from
her bearing.

She spoke in breathless tones, lowering her voice to a whisper for fear
of being