nce allowed them to go and get pleasure in
other monasteries, and contrived to collect around him youths whom it was
easy to delude, and a few elderly misanthropes; with these he formed his
doleful wailing flock.

As he loved notoriety in everything, he had various views of his
monastery engraved, and pictures representing the daily pursuits of his
laborious community. Such pictures, hawked about everywhere by itinerant
vendors of relics and rosaries, served to create for this barbarous
reformer a reputation saintly and angelic. In towns, villages, even in
royal palaces, he formed the one topic of conversation. Several
gentlemen, disgusted either with vice or with society, retired of their
own accord to his monastery, where they remained in order that they might
the sooner die.

Desirous of enjoying his ridiculous celebrity, the Abbe de Rance came to
Paris, under what pretext I do not remember, firmly resolved to show
himself off in all the churches, and solicit abundant alms for his
phantoms who never touched food. From all sides oblations were
forthcoming; soon he had got money enough to build a palace, if he had
liked.

It being impossible for him to take the august Mademoiselle de
Montpensier to his colony of monks, he desired at any rate to induce her
to withdraw from the world, and counselled her to enter a Carmelite
convent. Mademoiselle's ardent passion for M. de Lauzun seemed to the
Trappist Abbe a scandal; in fact, his sour spirit could brook no scandal
of any sort. "I attended her father as he lay dying," said he, "and to
me belongs the task of training, enlightening, and sanctifying his
daughter. I would have her keep silence; she has spoken too much."

The moment was ill chosen; just then Mademoiselle de Montpensier was
striving to break the fetters of her dear De Lauzun; she certainly did
not wish to get him out of one prison, and then put herself into another.
Every one blamed this reformer's foolish presumption, and Mademoiselle,
thoroughly exasperated, forbade her servants to admit him. It was said
that he had worked two or three miracles, and brought certain dead people
back to life.

"I will rebuild his monastery for him in marble if he will give us back
poor little Vegin, and the Duc d'Anjou," said the King to me.

The remark almost brought tears to my eyes, just as I was about to joke
with his Majesty about the fellow and his miracles.

Well satisfied with his Parisian harvest, the A