time of his departure approached, he resolved to
chant a Te Deum pontifically. He mentioned it to the cure. But what was
to be done? There were no episcopal ornaments. They could only place at
his disposal a wretched village sacristy, with a few ancient chasubles
of threadbare damask adorned with imitation lace.

"Bah!" said the Bishop. "Let us announce our Te Deum from the pulpit,
nevertheless, Monsieur le Cure. Things will arrange themselves."

They instituted a search in the churches of the neighborhood. All the
magnificence of these humble parishes combined would not have sufficed
to clothe the chorister of a cathedral properly.

While they were thus embarrassed, a large chest was brought and
deposited in the presbytery for the Bishop, by two unknown horsemen, who
departed on the instant. The chest was opened; it contained a cope of
cloth of gold, a mitre ornamented with diamonds, an archbishop's cross,
a magnificent crosier,--all the pontifical vestments which had been
stolen a month previously from the treasury of Notre Dame d'Embrun. In
the chest was a paper, on which these words were written, "From Cravatte
to Monseigneur Bienvenu."

"Did not I say that things would come right of themselves?" said the
Bishop. Then he added, with a smile, "To him who contents himself with
the surplice of a curate, God sends the cope of an archbishop."

"Monseigneur," murmured the cure, throwing back his head with a smile.
"God--or the Devil."

The Bishop looked steadily at the cure, and repeated with authority,
"God!"

When he returned to Chastelar, the people came out to stare at him as at
a curiosity, all along the road. At the priest's house in Chastelar he
rejoined Mademoiselle Baptistine and Madame Magloire, who were waiting
for him, and he said to his sister: "Well! was I in the right? The poor
priest went to his poor mountaineers with empty hands, and he returns
from them with his hands full. I set out bearing only my faith in God; I
have brought back the treasure of a cathedral."

That evening, before he went to bed, he said again: "Let us never fear
robbers nor murderers. Those are dangers from without, petty dangers.
Let us fear ourselves. Prejudices are the real robbers; vices are the
real murderers. The great dangers lie within ourselves. What matters it
what threatens our head or our purse! Let us think only of that which
threatens our soul."

Then, turning to his sister: "Sister, never a precaution on the