f a man and a
Christian. Not that great imperfections were not in evidence. You were
irresolute, uncertain, and easily disconcerted. Passions, so far latent,
smouldered in your soul. I loved you because of your great restlessness,
as I did another of my pupils for quite opposite qualities. I loved Paul
d'Ervy for his unswerving steadfastness of mind and heart."

At this name I blushed and turned pale and with difficulty suppressed
a cry, and when I tried to answer I found it impossible to speak. M.
Safrac appeared not to notice my distress.

"If I remember aright, he was your best friend," he added. "You have
remained intimate ever since, have you not? I know he has started on a
diplomatic career, and a great future is predicted for him. I hope that
in happier times than the present he may be entrusted with office at the
Holy See. In him you have a faithful and devoted friend."

"My father," I replied, with a great effort, "to-morrow I will speak to
you of Paul d'Ervy and of another person."

M. Safrac pressed my hand. We separated, and I went to the room which
had been prepared for me. In my bed, fragrant with lavender, I dreamed
that I was once again a child, and that as I knelt in the college chapel
I was admiring the blonde and ecstatic women with which the gallery was
filled, when suddenly out of a cloud over my head I seemed to hear a
voice say:

"Ary, you believe that you love them in God, but it is God you love in
them."

The next morning when I woke I found M. Safrac standing at the side of
my bed.

"Come, Ary, and hear the Mass which I am about to celebrate for your
intention. After the Holy Sacrifice I shall be ready to listen to what
you have to say."

The Church of Artigues was a little sanctuary in the Norman style which
still flourished in Aquitaine in the twelfth century. Restored some
twenty years ago, it had received the addition of a bell-tower which
had not been contemplated in the original plan. At any rate, poverty
had safeguarded its pure bareness. I tried to join in the prayers of the
celebrant as much as my thoughts would permit, and then I returned with
him to the presbytery. Here we breakfasted on a little bread and milk,
after which we went to M. Safrac's room.

He drew a chair to the fireplace, over which hung a crucifix, and
invited me to be seated, and seating himself beside me he signed to me
to speak. Outside the snow fell. I began as follows:

"My father, it is ten years ag