in his hand, "something
through which to offer up to God your remorse and your regrets. Do you
know the hymn of the Holy Sacrament, 'Adoro te, devote'? No. Yet you are
capable of feeling what is contained in these lines. Listen. It is this
idea: That on the cross one sees only the man, not the God; that in the
host one does not even see the man, and that yet one believes in the
real presence.

In cruce latebat sola Deitas.
At hic latet simul et humanitas.
Ambo tamen credens atque confitens....

"And now this last verse:

Peto quod petivit latro poenitens!

[I ask that which the penitent thief asked.]

"What a cry! Ah, but it is beautiful! It is beautiful! What words to
say in dying! And what did the poor thief ask, that Dixmas of whom the
church has made a saint for that one appeal: 'Remember me, Lord, in Thy
kingdom!' But we have arrived. Stoop, that you may not spoil your hat.
Now, what do you want with me? You know the motto of the Montfanons:
'Excelsior et firmior'--Always higher and always firmer.... One can
never do too many good deeds. If it be possible, 'present', as we said
to the rollcall."

A singular mixture of fervor and of good-nature, of enthusiastic
eloquence and of political or religious fanaticism, was Montfanon. But
the good-nature rapidly vanished from his face, at once so haughty and
so simple, in proportion as Dorsenne's story proceeded. The writer,
indeed, did not make the error of at once formulating his proposition.
He felt that he could not argue with the pontifical zouave of bygone
days. Either the latter would look upon it as monstrous and absurd,
or he would see in it a charitable duty to be accomplished, and then,
whatever annoyance the matter might occasion him, he would accept it,
as he would bestow alms. It was that chord of generosity which Julien,
diplomatic for once in his life, essayed to touch by his confidence.
Gaining authority by their conversation of a few days before, he related
all he could of Gorka's visit, concealing the fact of that word of honor
so falsely given, which still oppressed him with a mortal weight. He
told how he had soothed the madman, how he conducted him to the station,
then he described the meeting of the two rivals twenty-four hours later.
He dwelt upon Alba's manner that evening and the infamy of the anonymous
letters written to Madame Steno's discarded lover and to her daughter.
And after he had reported the