these are placed at la Madeleine and Saint Roch where the
congregations are wealthy. They are wined and dined, they pass their
lives in drawing-rooms, and comfort only elegant souls. Other priests
who are good desk clerks, for the most part, but who have neither the
education nor the fortune necessary to participate in the
inconsequentialities of the idle rich. They live more in seclusion and
visit only among the middle class. They console themselves for their
unfashionableness by playing cards with each other and uttering crude
commonplaces at the table."

"Now, Des Hermies," said Carhaix, "you are going too far. I claim to
know the clerical world myself, and there are, even in Paris, honest men
who do their duty. They are covered with opprobrium and spat on. Every
Tom, Dick, and Harry accuses them of the foulest vices. But after all,
it must be said that the abbe Boudes and the Canon Docres are
exceptions, thank God! and outside of Paris there are veritable saints,
especially among the country clergy."

"It's a fact that Satanic priests are relatively rare, and the
lecheries of the clergy and the knaveries of the episcopate are
evidently exaggerated by an ignoble press. But that isn't what I have
against them. If only they were gamblers and libertines! But they're
lukewarm, mediocre, lazy, imbeciles. That is their sin against the Holy
Ghost, the only sin which the All Merciful does not pardon."

"They are of their time," said Durtal. "You wouldn't expect to find the
soul of the Middle Ages inculcated by the milk-and-water seminaries."

"Then," Carhaix observed, "our friend forgets that there are impeccable
monastic orders, the Carthusians, for instance."

"Yes, and the Trappists and the Franciscans. But they are cloistered
orders which live in shelter from an infamous century. Take, on the
other hand, the order of Saint Dominic, which exists for the fashionable
world. That is the order which produces jewelled dudes like Monsabre and
Didon. Enough said."

"They are the hussars of religion, the jaunty lancers, the spick and
span and primped-up Zouaves, while the good Capuchins are the humble
poilus of the soul," said Durtal.

"If only they loved bells," sighed Carhaix, shaking his head. "Well,
pass the Coulommiers," he said to his wife, who was taking up the salad
bowl and the plates.

In silence they ate this Brie-type cheese. Des Hermies filled the
glasses.

"Tell me," Durtal asked Des Hermies, "do you kno