in vanity to
avail himself of every occasion to prove his strength of mind in
mockery, and in violent bursts of passion, his wretchedness had given
such a bitter turn to his feelings, that sometimes he stood amongst us
like an inspired prophet of Atheism, used such singular similies and
figurative expressions, in a language so touching and elevated, that
the pious maidens turned away from him with inward terror.

"We had all ceased to weep, we were reconciled and of peaceable, quiet
hearts, when Lacoste entered in the midst of our pathetic emotion and
religious conversation. Beauvais made known to him what he had learned
from Lucy, and that he (Lacoste) must quit our society in order that he
might not disturb the happiness of the lovers and their approaching
marriage, perhaps even render it impossible. This blow fell
unexpectedly on the unfortunate Lacoste; his whole emaciated, care-worn
frame trembled violently as if in convulsions, he was unable for a long
time to find words, and when at last they flowed from his colourless
lips, he tried to persuade us, that such a sentence of banishment from
former friends was at least too hard, that he was not able to subdue
his passion so quickly, or entirely to get rid of his persuasions, but
that he combated both, and would strive against them with still greater
energy in our company. But Beauvais was on this day armed with manly
courage and resolution, his intercourse hitherto with Lucy had
made him too unhappy; he insisted on the immediate departure of the
peace-destroyer; the Abbe Aubigny sided with him, the gentle Euphemie
was anxious, and Lucy herself the most decided; I also joined in this
chorus, and we all unanimously declared, as with one voice, that the
godless one should no longer linger near us; it was our duty, the love
of Christ itself required of us to banish him, because through his
intercourse with us, our religion would be sullied, perhaps even
endangered. When Lacoste perceived we were firm in our religious zeal,
he left off prayers and humiliations, and a tremendous fury overcame
the mortified man, his eyes flashed fire, and he cursed himself and us
with the bitterest execrations--that we might never find happiness,
that misery might pursue us, that Beauvais might reap nothing but grief
and sorrow from this marriage, and that he might live to see calamity,
distress, and crime on his dearest children."

Edmond sighed deeply. "Thus," continued the priest, "did