the poor girl said "No," went forward, and
let him embrace her. And yet this Judas wanted only to deceive her, to
gain a few days' time for securing help from a higher quarter.

On the 29th there is an utter change. Cadiere stays at Ollioules, begs
him to excuse her, vows submission. It is but too clear that he has
set some mighty influences at work; that from the 29th threats come
in, perhaps from Aix, and presently from Paris. The Jesuit bigwigs
have been writing, and their courtly patrons from Versailles.

In such a struggle, what were the brethren to do? No doubt they took
counsel with their chiefs, who would certainly warn them against
setting too hard on Girard as a _libertine confessor_; for thereby
offence would be given to all the clergy, who deemed confession their
dearest prize. It was needful, on the contrary; to sever him from the
priests by proving the strangeness of his teaching, by bringing him
forward as a _Quietist_. With that one word they might lead him a long
way. In 1698, a vicar in the neighbourhood of Dijon had been burnt for
Quietism. They conceived the idea of drawing up a memoir, dictated
apparently by their sister, to whom the plan was really unknown, in
which the high and splendid Quietism of Girard should be affirmed,
and therefore in effect denounced. This memoir recounted the visions
she had seen in Lent. In it the name of Girard was already in heaven.
She saw it joined with her own in the Book of Life.

They durst not take this memoir to the bishop. But they got their
friend, little Camerle, his youthful chaplain, to steal it from them.
The bishop read it, and circulated some copies about the town. On the
21st August, Girard being at the palace, the bishop laughingly said to
him, "Well, father, so your name is in the Book of Life!"

He was overcome, fancied himself lost, wrote to Cadiere in terms of
bitter reproach. Once more with tears he asked for his papers. Cadiere
in great surprise vowed that her memoir had never gone out of her
brother's hands. But when she found out her mistake, her despair was
unbounded. The sharpest pangs of body and soul beset her. Once she
thought herself on the point of death. She became like one mad. "I
long so much to suffer. Twice I caught up the rod of penance, and
wielded it so savagely as to draw a great deal of blood." In the midst
of this dreadful outbreak, which proved at once the weakness of her
head and the boundless tenderness of her conscience