ty of greatness, richness, and idleness. It
began with the Egyptians, it struck Rome and Athens; it strikes France
to-day. Yesterday we wore skins and furs, to-day silks and woolens,
to-morrow . . . rags, mayhap. But listen: human nature has not changed
in these seven thousand years, nor will change. Only governments and
fashions change . . . and religions."

There was a pause. Chaumonot wondered vaguely how he could cope with
this man who was flint, yet unresponsive to the stroke of steel. Had
the possibility of the thousand livres become nothing? Again he
sighed. He glanced at Brother Jacques, but Brother Jacques was
following the marquis's lead . . . sorting visions in the crumbling,
glowing logs. As for the Indian, he was admiring the chandelier.

"Monsieur," said Brother Jacques, breaking the silence, but not
removing his gaze from the logs, "it is said that you have killed many
men in duels."

"What would you?" complacently. "All men fight when need says must. I
never fought without cause, just or unjust. And the Rochellais have
added a piquant postscript that for every soul I have despatched . . ."

"You speak of soul, Monsieur?" interrupted Chaumonot.

"A slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was, that for every life
I've sent out of the world, I've brought another into it," with a laugh
truly Rabelaisian.

Brother Jacques's hands were attacked by a momentary spasm. Only the
Indian witnessed this sign of agitation; but the conversation was far
above his learning and linguistic resources, and he comprehended
nothing.

"Well, Monsieur Chaumonot," said the marquis, who was growing weary of
this theological discussion, "Here are your livres in the sum of one
thousand. I tell you frankly that it had been my original intention to
subject you to humiliation. But you have won my respect, for all my
detestation of your black robes; and if this money will advance your
personal ambitions, I give it to you without reservation." He raised
the bag and cast it into Chaumonot's lap.

"Monsieur," cried the good man, his face round with delight, "every
night in yonder wilderness I shall pray for the bringing about of your
conversion. It will be a great triumph for the Church."

"You are wasting your breath. I am not giving a thousand livres for an
'_Absolvo te_.' Perhaps, after all," and the marquis smiled
maliciously, "I am giving you this money to embarrass Monsieur du
Rosset, the most devout Ca