decide what method of treatment to adopt before
hastening to his bedside together."

"These are very fine figures," said the Abbe Marinier with vehemence;
"but you are all aware that similes are not arguments!"

Don Clemente, standing in the corner between the door leading into the
corridor and the window, and Professor Minucci, seated near him, began
to speak at the same moment, but both stopped short; each wishing to
allow the other to speak first. Selva proposed that the monk be heard
first. All eyes were fixed on that noble face, the face of an archangel:
Don Clemente's colour deepened, but he held his head erect. After a
moment of hesitation he spoke in his soft, modest voice. "The Abbe
Marinier made an observation which seemed to me very just. He said that
we need a saint. I also believe this, I do not despair of finding one,
for perhaps, even now, he exists. Who knows?"

"Himself," murmured Don Paolo.

"Now," Don Clemente went on, "I wish the Abbe Marinier to understand
this: that we are, in a manner, the prophets of this saint, of this
Messiah, preparing the way for him; which simply means that we point out
the necessity of a renovation of all that, in our religion, is outward
clothing, and not the body of truth, even should such a renovation cause
suffering to many consciences. _Ingemiscit et parturit!_ We must point
out this necessity, standing the while on absolutely Catholic ground,
looking for the new laws from the old authorities, bringing proofs that
if these garments which have been worn so long and in such stormy times,
be not changed, no decent person will come near us; and God forbid that
some among us should be driven to cast them off without permission, out
of a loathing not to be borne. I wish furthermore to say, if the Abbe
Marinier will permit me, that we have very few human fears."

A murmur of hearty assent answered him, and Minucci started up, every
nerve vibrating. While the Abbe Marinier had been speaking, di Leyni
and Selva had watched Minucci, who was fuming, with knitted brows; and
Giovanni, knowing well the violent temper of this ascetic mystic, had
intended to give him time to control himself by requesting Don Clemente
to speak first. He now sprang up excitedly. His words did not flow
smoothly, their very impetus causing them to tremble and break, and,
broken, they poured from his lips in a torrent, precise, nevertheless,
and powerful, with their vigorous Roman accent.

"That is