. That is my life, that is how I came to be a priest. I am not
afraid of ingratitude, and I am grateful. The Church is nothing to me;
it is an idea. I am devoted to the King of Spain, but you cannot give
affection to a King of Spain; he is my protector, he towers above me. I
want to love my creature, to mould him, fashion him to my use, and love
him as a father loves his child. I shall drive in your tilbury, my
boy, enjoy your success with women, and say to myself, 'This fine young
fellow, this Marquis de Rubempre, my creation whom I have brought into
this great world, is my very Self; his greatness is my doing, he speaks
or is silent with my voice, he consults me in everything.' The Abbe de
Vermont felt thus for Marie-Antoinette."

"He led her to the scaffold."

"He did not love the Queen," said the priest. "HE only loved the Abbe de
Vermont."

"Must I leave desolation behind me?"

"I have money, you shall draw on me."

"I would do a great deal just now to rescue David Sechard," said Lucien,
in the tone of one who has given up all idea of suicide.

"Say but one word, my son, and by to-morrow morning he shall have money
enough to set him free."

"What! Would you give me twelve thousand francs?"

"Ah! child, do you not see that we are traveling on at the rate of four
leagues an hour? We shall dine at Poitiers before long, and there, if
you decide to sign the pact, to give me a single proof of obedience, a
great proof that I shall require, then the Bordeaux coach shall carry
fifteen thousand francs to your sister----"

"Where is the money?"

The Spaniard made no answer, and Lucien said within himself, "There I
had him; he was laughing at me."

In another moment they took their places. Neither of them said a word.
Silently the Abbe groped in the pocket of the coach, and drew out a
traveler's leather pouch with three divisions in it; thence he took a
hundred Portuguese moidores, bringing out his large hand filled with
gold three times.

"Father, I am yours," said Lucien, dazzled by the stream of gold.

"Child!" said the priest, and set a tender kiss on Lucien's forehead.
"There is twice as much still left in the bag, besides the money for
traveling expenses."

"And you are traveling alone!" cried Lucien.

"What is that?" asked the Spaniard. "I have more than a hundred thousand
crowns in drafts on Paris. A diplomatist without money is in your
position of this morning--a poet without a will of his own!"