y persons, whose souls, incapable of feeling the grandeur of true
piety, fling themselves into the details of outward devotion.

The petty nature of his troubles prevented Birotteau, always effusive
and liking to be pitied and consoled, from enjoying the soothing
pleasure of taking his friends into his confidence,--a last but cruel
aggravation of his misery. The little amount of tact which he derived
from his timidity made him fear to seem ridiculous in concerning himself
with such pettiness. And yet those petty things made up the sum of his
existence,--that cherished existence, full of busyness about nothings,
and of nothingness in its business; a colorless barren life in which
strong feelings were misfortunes, and the absence of emotion happiness.
The poor priest's paradise was changed, in a moment, into hell. His
sufferings became intolerable. The terror he felt at the prospect of
a discussion with Mademoiselle Gamard increased day by day; the secret
distress which blighted his life began to injure his health. One
morning, as he put on his mottled blue stockings, he noticed a marked
diminution in the circumference of his calves. Horrified by so cruel and
undeniable a symptom, he resolved to make an effort and appeal to
the Abbe Troubert, requesting him to intervene, officially, between
Mademoiselle Gamard and himself.

When he found himself in presence of the imposing canon, who, in order
to receive his visitor in a bare and cheerless room, had hastily quitted
a study full of papers, where he worked incessantly, and where no
one was ever admitted, the vicar felt half ashamed at speaking of
Mademoiselle Gamard's provocations to a man who appeared to be so
gravely occupied. But after going through the agony of the mental
deliberations which all humble, undecided, and feeble persons endure
about things of even no importance, he decided, not without much
swelling and beating of the heart, to explain his position to the Abbe
Troubert.

The canon listened in a cold, grave manner, trying, but in vain, to
repress an occasional smile which to more intelligent eyes than those of
the vicar might have betrayed the emotions of a secret satisfaction. A
flame seemed to dart from his eyelids when Birotteau pictured with the
eloquence of genuine feeling the constant bitterness he was made to
swallow; but Troubert laid his hand above those lids with a gesture very
common to thinkers, maintaining the dignified demeanor which was usua