r of the
horizon, as if on the wings of the wind; and they leave in us, as they
pass, ruins only, and darkness. Such has been my experience, and that
of many others; and it has been as involuntary as it is irreparable."

"And I--Monsieur!" said the bishop, suddenly, casting on me one of his
august looks, "Do you suppose that I am but a play-actor in my
cathedral church?"

"Monseigneur!"

"Yes! Listening to you, one would suppose that we were come to a
period of the world in which one must needs be either an atheist or a
hypocrite! Personally, I claim to be neither one nor the other."

"Need I defend myself on that point, Monseigneur? Need I say that I
did not come here to give you offence?"

"Doubtless! doubtless! Well, Monsieur, I admit; not without great
reserves, mind! for one is always more or less responsible for the
atmosphere in which he lives, the influences to which he is subject,
for the habitual turn he gives to his thoughts; still, I admit that you
are the victim of the incredulity of the age, that you are altogether
guiltless in your scepticism, your atheism! since you have no fear of
hard words. Is it therefore any the less certain that the union of a
fervent believer, such as my niece, with a man like yourself would be a
moral disorder of which the consequences might be disastrous? Do you
think it could be my duty, as a relative of Mademoiselle de
Courteheuse, her spiritual father, as a prelate of the Church, to lend
my hands to such disorder, to preside over the shocking union of two
souls separated by the whole width of heaven?"

[229] The bishop, in proposing that question, kept his eyes fixed
ardently on mine.

"Monseigneur," I answered, after a moment's embarrassment, "you know as
well as, and better than I, the condition of the world, and of our
country, at this time. You know that unhappily I am not an exception:
that men of faith are rare in it. And permit me to tell you my whole
mind. If I must needs suffer the inconsolable misfortune of renouncing
the happiness I had hoped for, are you quite sure that the man to whom
one of these days you will give your niece may not be something more
than a sceptic, or even an atheist?"

"What, Monsieur?"

"A hypocrite, Monseigneur! Mademoiselle de Courteheuse is beautiful
enough, rich enough, to excite the ambition of those who may be less
scrupulous than I. As for me, if you now know that I am a sceptic, you
know also that I am a man of