ency which had
failed him when he sought to save himself. Others maintained that it was
no other than the great archangel St. Michel who had securely fastened
the net upon the stake and so preserved Delphine, while the heretic was
left to perish. A few thought secretly, and whispered it in fear, that
Michel had done a noble deed, and won heaven thereby. The cure, who came
to look upon the calm dead face, opened his lips after long and profound
thought:

"If this man had been a Christian," he said, "he would have been a saint
and a martyr."

A PERILOUS AMOUR, By S. J. Weyman

AN EPISODE ADAPTED FROM THE MEMOIRS OF MAXIMILIAN DE BETHUNE, DUKE OF
SULLY

Such in brief were the reasons which would have led me, had I followed
the promptings of my own sagacity, to oppose the return of the Jesuits.
It remains for me only to add that these arguments lost all their weight
when set in the balance against the safety of my beloved master. To this
plea the king himself for once condescended, and found those who were
most strenuous to dissuade him the least able to refute it; since the
more a man abhorred the Jesuits, the more ready he was to allow that
the king's life could not be safe from their practices while the edict
against them remained in force. The support which I gave to the king on
this occasion exposed me to the utmost odium of my co-religionists, and
was in later times ill-requited by the order. But a remarkable incident
that occurred while the matter was still under debate, and which I now
for the first time make public, proved beyond question the wisdom of my
conduct.

Fontainebleau being at this time in the hands of the builders, the
king had gone to spend his Easter at Chantilly, whither Mademoiselle
d'Entragues had also repaired. During his absence from Paris I was
seated one morning in my library at the Arsenal, when I was informed
that Father Cotton, the same who at Metz had presented a petition from
the Jesuits, and who was now in Paris pursuing that business under
a safe-conduct, craved leave to pay his respects to me. I was not
surprised, for I had been a little before this of some service to him.
The pages of the court, while loitering outside the Louvre, had raised
a tumult in the streets, and grievously insulted the father by shouting
after him, "Old Wool! Old Cotton!" in imitation of the Paris street
cry. For this the king, at my instigation, had caused them to be soundly
whipped, and I suppo