nception than you yourself would admit the possibility of
such a miracle if a new religion should nowadays be preached as based
on a similar mystery. Do you suppose that a judge and jury in a police
court would give credence to the operation of the Holy Ghost! And yet
who can venture to assert that God will never again redeem mankind? Is
it any better now than it was under Tiberius?"

"Your argument is blasphemy," said Monsieur de Clagny.

"I grant it," said the journalist, "but not with malicious intent.
You cannot suppress historical fact. In my opinion, Pilate, when he
sentenced Jesus, and Anytus--who spoke for the aristocratic party at
Athens--when he insisted on the death of Socrates, both represented
established social interests which held themselves legitimate, invested
with co-operative powers, and obliged to defend themselves. Pilate and
Anytus in their time were not less logical than the public prosecutors
who demanded the heads of the sergeants of La Rochelle; who, at this
day, are guillotining the republicans who take up arms against the
throne as established by the revolution of July, and the innovators
who aim at upsetting society for their own advantage under pretence of
organizing it on a better footing. In the eyes of the great families
of Greece and Rome, Socrates and Jesus were criminals; to those ancient
aristocracies their opinions were akin to those of the Mountain; and if
their followers had been victorious, they would have produced a little
'ninety-three' in the Roman Empire or in Attica."

"What are you trying to come to, monsieur?" asked the lawyer.

"To adultery!--For thus, monsieur, a Buddhist as he smokes his pipe may
very well assert that the Christian religion is founded in adultery; as
we believe that Mahomet is an impostor; that his Koran is an epitome
of the Old Testament and the Gospels; and that God never had the least
intention of constituting that camel-driver His Prophet."

"If there were many men like you in France--and there are more than
enough, unfortunately--all government would be impossible."

"And there would be no religion at all," said Madame Piedefer, who had
been making strangely wry faces all through this discussion.

"You are paining them very much," said Bianchon to Lousteau in an
undertone. "Do not talk of religion; you are saying things that are
enough to upset them."

"If I were a writer or a romancer," said Monsieur Gravier, "I should
take the side of the