ere
is yet the _Sweet Jesus_. Do you know the sweet Jesus, Abbe Ridoux?

--Yes, it is the Abbe Simonet.

--The Abbe Simonet, said Marcel, I know him; we were together at the
Seminary. Do they call him the sweet Jesus? He was a terrible lazy fellow.

--Well, he is not so among the ladies, I assure you They all are madly in
love with him. He confesses the wives of the large and small shop-keepers,
and he has enough to do. The gentry used to go to the Abbe Gobin. Now he
has gone away, what will become of all the sinners of the Old-Town?
Supposing they were all to fall upon that poor Simonet! It is enough to
make one shudder. Dear _Sweet Jesus_! When I see him wandering in the
Cathedral with his long fair hair, and his down-cast eyes, I understand the
infatuation of the women. He is nice enough to eat; yes, gentlemen, to eat.
Ah, you do not know as well as we do, how religion gains by young and
handsome pastors for its interpreters, and with what rapidity the holy
flock increases. It is an astonishing thing. I fear that we must strive
very hard against the _Sweet Jesus_.

--We will strive, said Ridoux.

--And we will employ every means. Go, dear Abbe, hasten to Monseigneur's,
he is warned of your visit, and before entering on the struggle, it is well
to reconnoitre the ground. Go, I have good hopes that we shall have St.
Marie.

Thus Marcel found himself enlisted, in spite of himself. The Cure of St.
Marie was, to tell the truth, perfectly indifferent to him. That one or
another mattered to him but little. He had considered that it was perhaps
indispensable that he should quit Althausen for the sake of his reputation
and the tranquillity of his heart. His heart? Was it then no longer
Suzanne's? More than ever: but he thought by this time that if there are
reconciliations with heaven, there were none such with his maid-servant,
and that to rid himself of her, he must first quit Althausen. Suzanne from
time to time could come to Nancy, and it was much more easy and less
perilous for him to contrive interviews with her there, than in that
village where they were spied upon by all. Afterwards they would see....

LXXXIV.

AT THE PALACE.

"This world is a great ball where fools, disguised
Under the laughable names of Eminence and Highness
Think to swell out their being and exalt their baseness
In vain does the equipage of vanity amaze us;
Mortals are equal: 'tis but their mark is different."

VOLT