M. Coignard wiped his lips and said:

"The reason is that Capuchins love humbly, and never refuse anything.

Another reason is that neither reflection nor courtesy weakens their natural instincts. Sir, yours is a generous wine."

"You do me too much honour," replied M. d'Anquetil. "It is M. de la Gueritude's. I have taken his mistress. I may as well take his bottles."

"Nothing is more equitable," said my tutor. "I see, with pleasure, that you rise above prejudices."

"Do not praise me, abbe, more than I deserve. My birth renders easy to me what may be difficult for the vulgar. A commoner is compelled to have some restraint in all his doings. He is tied down to rigid probity; but a gentleman enjoys the honour of fighting for his king and his pleasure, and does not need to enc.u.mber himself with foolish trifles. I have seen active service under M. de Villars, and in the War of Succession, and have also run the risk of being killed without any reason in the battle of Parma. The least you can do is to leave me free to lick my servants, to balk my creditors, and take, if it please me, the wives of my friends--likewise their mistresses."

"You speak n.o.bly," said my good master, "and you are careful to maintain the prerogatives of the n.o.bility."

"I have not," replied M. d'Anquetil, "those scruples which intimidate the crowd of ordinary men, and which I consider good only to stop the timorous and restrain the wretched."

"Well spoken!" said my tutor.

"I do not believe in virtue," replied the other.

"You're right," said my master again. "With his quite peculiar shape, the human animal could not be virtuous without being somewhat deformed.

Look, for an example, on this pretty girl supping with us; on her beautiful bosom, her marvellously rounded form, and the rest. In what part of her enchanting body could she lodge a grain of virtue? There is no room for it; everything is so firm, so juicy, solid, and plump!

Virtue, like the raven, nests in ruins. Her dwellings are the cavities and wrinkles of the human body. I myself, sir, who, since my childhood, have meditated over the austere principles of religion and philosophy, could not insinuate into myself a minimum of virtue otherwise than by means of const.i.tutional flaws produced by sufferings and age. And ever more I absorbed less virtue than pride. In doing so I got into the habit of addressing to the Divine Creator of this world the following prayer: 'My Lord, preserve me from virtue if it is to lead me from G.o.dliness.'

Ah! G.o.dliness; this it is possible and necessary to attain. That is our decent ending. May we reach it some day! In the meantime, give me something to drink."

"I'll confess," said M. d'Anquetil, "that I do not believe in a G.o.d."

"Now, for once, sir, I must blame you," said the abbe "One must believe in G.o.d, and all the truths of our holy religion."

M. d'Anquetil protested.

"You make game of us, abbe, and take us to be worse ninnies than we really are. As I have said, I do not believe either in G.o.d or devil, and I never go to Ma.s.s--the king's Ma.s.s alone excepted. The sermons of the priests are stories for old women, bearable, perhaps, in such times as when my grandmother saw the Abbe de Choisy, dressed as a woman, distribute the holy bread at the Church of Saint Jacques du Haut Pas.

In those times there may have been religion; to-day there is none, thank G.o.d!"

"By all the Saints and all the devils, don't speak like that, my friend," exclaimed Catherine. "As sure as that pie stands on this table G.o.d exists! And if you want a proof of it, let me say, that when, last year, on a certain day, I was in direful distress and penury, I went, on the advice of Friar Ange, to burn a wax candle in the Church of the Capuchins, and on the following I met M. de la Gueritude at the promenade, who gave me this house, with all the furniture it contains, the cellar full of wine, some of which we enjoy to-night, and sufficient money to live honestly."

"Fie! fie!" said M. d'Anquetil, "the idiot makes G.o.d Almighty interfere in dirty affairs. This shocks and wounds one's feelings, even if one is an atheist."

"My dear sir," said my good tutor, "it is a great deal better to compromise G.o.d in dirty business, as does that simple-minded girl, than, as you do, to chase Him out of the world He has created. If He has not expressly sent that burly contractor to Catherine, His creature, He at least suffered her to meet him. We are ignorant of His ways, and what this simpleton says contains more truth, maybe mixed and alloyed with blasphemy, than all the vain words a reprobate draws out of the emptiness of his heart. Nothing is more despicable than the libertinism of mind that the youth of our days make a show of. Your words make me shiver. Am I to reply to them by proofs out of the Holy Scriptures and the writings of the fathers? Shall I make you hear G.o.d speaking to the patriarchs and to the prophets: _Si locutus est Abraham et semini ejus in saecula?_ Shall I spread out before you the traditions of the Church?

Invoke against you the authority of both Testaments? Blind you with Christ's miracles, and His words as miraculous as His deeds? No! I will not arm myself with those holy weapons. I fear too much to pollute them in such a fight, which is not at all solemn. In her prudence the Church warns us not to risk turning edification into a scandal. Therefore I will not speak, sir, of that wherewith I have been fed on the steps of sanctuaries. But, without violating the chaste modesty of my soul, and without exposing to profanation the sacred mysteries, I'll show you G.o.d overawing human reason, I'll show you it by the philosophy of pagans, and by the t.i.ttle-tattle of unG.o.dly persons. Yes, sir, I'll make you avow that you recognise Him, against your own free will. Much as you want to pretend He does not exist you cannot but agree that, if a certain order prevails in this world, such order is divine--flows out of the spring and fountain of all order."

"I agree," replied M. d'Anquetil, reclining in his armchair and fondling his finely shaped calves.

"Therefore, take care," said my good tutor. "When you say that G.o.d does not exist what else are you doing but linking thought, directing reason, and manifesting in your innermost soul, the principle of all thought, and all reason, which is G.o.d? Is it possible only to attempt to establish that He is not, without illuminating, by the most paltry reasoning, which still is reasoning, some remains of the harmony He has established in the universe?"

"Abbe," replied M. d'Anquetil, "you are a humorous sophist. It is well known in our days that this world is the work of chance, and it is superfluous to speak of a providence, since natural philosophers have discovered, by means of their telescopes, that winged frogs are living on the moon."

"Well, sir," replied my good master, "I am in no way angry that winged frogs are living on the moon; such kind of marsh-birds are very worthy inhabitants of a world which has not been sanctified by the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. True, we only know the minor part of the universe, and it is quite possible, as M. d'Asterac says--who is a bit of a fool--that this earth is no more than a spot of mud in the infinity of worlds. Maybe the astronomer Copernicus was not altogether dreaming when he taught that, mathematically, the earth is not the centre of creation.

I have also read that an Italian of the name of Galileo, who died miserably, shared Copernicus' opinion, and in our days we see little M.

de Fontenelle entertaining the same ideas. But all this is but a vain imagination, fit only to unhinge weak minds. What does it matter if the physical world is larger or smaller, of one shape or another? It is quite sufficient that it can be duly considered only by intelligence and reason for G.o.d to be manifest therein.

"If a wise man's meditations could be of some use to you, sir, I will inform you how such proof of G.o.d's existence, better than the proof of St. Anselm, and quite independent of that resulting from Revelation, appeared to me suddenly in unclouded limpidity. It was at Seez, five and twenty years ago when I was the bishop's librarian. The gallery windows opened on a courtyard where, every morning, I saw a kitchen wench clean the saucepans. She was young, tall, st.u.r.dy. A slight down, shadowlike, over her lips lent irritating and proud gracefulness to her countenance.

Her entangled hair, meagre bosom, and long, naked arms were worthy of an Adonis or a Diana. She was of a boyish beauty. I loved her for it, loved her strong, red hands. All in all that girl evoked in me a longing as rude and brutal as herself. You know how imperious such longings are. I made her understand by sign and word. Without the slightest hesitation she quickly let me know that my longings were not stronger than hers, and appointed the very next night for a meeting, to take place in the loft, where she slept on the hay, by gracious permission of the bishop, whose saucepans she cleaned. Impatiently I waited for the night. When at last her shadow covered the earth I climbed, by means of a ladder, to the loft, where the girl expected me. My first thought was to embrace her, my second to admire the links which brought me into her arms. For, sir, a young ecclesiastic--a kitchen wench--a ladder--a bundle of hay.

What a train! What regulation! What a concourse of pre-established harmonies! What a concatenation of cause and effect! What a proof of G.o.d's existence! I was strangely struck by it, and mightily glad I am to be able to add this profane demonstration to the reasons furnished by theology, which are, however, amply sufficient."

"Abbe," said Catherine, "the only weak point in your story is that the girl had a meagre bosom. A woman without b.r.e.a.s.t.s is like a bed without pillows. But don't you know, d'Anquetil, what we might do?"

"Yes," said he, "play a game of ombre, which is played by three."

"If you will," she said. "But, dear, have the pipes brought in. Nothing is pleasanter than to smoke a pipe of tobacco when drinking wine."

A lackey brought the cards and pipes, which we lit. Soon the room was full of dense smoke, wherein our host and the Abbe Coignard played gravely at piquet.

Luck followed my dear tutor up to the moment when M. d'Anquetil, fancying he saw him for the third time score fifty-five when he had only made forty points, called him a Greek, a villainous trickster, a Knight of Transylvania, and threw a bottle at his head, which broke on the table, flooding it with wine.

"Well, sir," said the abbe, "you'll have to take the trouble to open another bottle: we are thirsty."

"With pleasure," replied M. d'Anquetil. "But, abbe, know that a gentleman does not mark points he has not made, and does not cheat at cards except at the king's card-table, round which all sorts of people are a.s.sembled, to whom one owes nothing. On any other table it is a vile action. Abbe, say, do you want to be looked on as an adventurer?"

"It is remarkable," said my good tutor, "that you blame at cards or dice a practice so much commended in the art of war, politics and trade; in each of these people glorify themselves by correcting the injuries of fortune. It is not that I do not pique myself on honesty when playing at cards. Thank G.o.d, I always play straight, and you must have been dreaming, sir, when you fancied I had marked points I did not make. Had it been otherwise, I would appeal to the example given by the blessed Bishop of Geneva, who did not scruple to cheat at cards. But I cannot defend myself against the reflection that at play men are much more sensitive than in serious business, and that they employ the whole of their probity at the backgammon board, where it incommodes them but indifferently, whereas they put it entirely in the background in a battle or a treaty of peace, where it would be troublesome. Polyaenus, sir, has written, in the Greek language a book on Stratagems, wherein is shown to what excess deceit is pushed by the great leaders."

"Abbe," said M. d'Anquetil, "I have not read your Polyaenus, and do not think I ever shall read him. But like every true gentleman, I have been to the wars. I have served the king for eighteen months. It is the n.o.blest of all professions. I'll tell you exactly what war is. I may tell the secret of it, as n.o.body is present to listen but yourself, some bottles, yonder gentleman whom I intend to kill very shortly, and that girl, who begins to undress herself."

"Yes," said Catherine, "I undress, and will keep only my chemise on, because I feel too hot."

"Well then," M. d'Anquetil continued, "whatever may be printed of it in the gazettes, war consists, above all things, of stealing the pigs and chickens of peasants. Soldiers in the fields have no other occupation."

"You are right," said M. Coignard, "and in days of yore it was the saying in Gaul that the soldier's best friend was Madame Marauding. But I beg of you not to kill my pupil, Jacques Tournebroche."

"Ouf!" exclaimed Catherine, arranging the lace of her chemise on her bosom. "Now I feel easier."

"Abbe," replied M. d'Anquetil, "honour compels me to do it."

But my kind-hearted tutor went on:

"Sir, Jacques Tournebroche is very useful to me for the translation, I have undertaken, of Zosimus the Panopolitan. I would give you many thanks not to fight him before the finishing touch has been given to that grand work."

"To the deuce with your Zosimus," said M. d'Anquetil. "To the deuce with him! Do you hear, abbe! I'll send him to the deuce, as a king would do with his first mistress."

And he sang:

"Pour dresser un jeune courrier Et l'affermir sur l'etrier Il lui fallait une routiere Laire lan laire."

"What's that Zosimus?"

"Zosimus, sir, Zosimus of Panopolis, was a learned Greek, who flourished at Alexandria in the third century of the Christian era, and wrote treatises on the spagyric art."

"Do you fancy it matters to me? Why do you translate it?

"Battons le fer quand il est chaud Dit-elle, en faisant sonner haut Le nom de sultan premiere Laire lan laire."