CHAPTER XXXV. FRATERNITY.

ispalet?t,ofwhichhestraightwaybrushedthedimsleevewithhishand),“despisingthefoiblesofhumanity—aboveitsluxuries—independentofitscomforts.” “Etvous,Mademoiselle?vousêtespropretteetdouillette,etaffreusementinsensible,par-dessuslemarché.” “But,inshort,Monsieur,nowIthinkofit,youmustlivesomewhere?Dotellmewhereandwhatestablishmentofservantsdoyoukeep?” Withafearfulprojectionoftheunder-lip,implyinganimpetusofscornthemostdecided,hebrokeout— “Jevisdansuntrou!Iinhabitaden,Miss—acavern,whereyouwouldnotputyourdaintynose.Once,withbaseshameofspeakingthewholetruth,Italkedaboutmy‘study’inthatcollege:knownowthatthis‘study’ismywholeabodemychamberisthereandmydrawing-room.Asformy‘establishmentofservants’”(mimickingmyvoice)“theynumbertenlesvoilà.” Andhegrimlyspread,closeundermyeyes,histenfingers. “Iblackmyboots,”pursuedhesavagely.“Ibrushmypalet?t.” “No,Monsieur,itistooplainyouneverdothat,”wasmyparenthesis. “JefaismonlitetmonménageIseekmydinnerinarestaurantmysuppertakescare,ofitselfIpassdayslaboriousandlovelessnightslongandlonelyIamferocious,andbeardedandmonkishandnothingnowlivinginthisworldlovesme,exceptsomeoldheartswornlikemyown,andsomefewbeings,impoverished,suffering,poorinpurseandinspirit,whomthekingdomsofthisworldownnot,buttowhomawillandtestamentnottobedisputedhasbequeathedthekingdomofheaven.” “Ah,MonsieurbutIknow!” “Whatdoyouknow?manythings,Iverilybelieveyetnotme,Lucy!” “IknowthatyouhaveapleasantoldhouseinapleasantoldsquareoftheBasse-Ville—whydon’tyougoandlivethere?” “Hein?”mutteredheagain. “Ilikeditmuch,Monsieurwiththestepsascendingtothedoor,thegreyflagsinfront,thenoddingtreesbehind—realtrees,notshrubs—treesdark,high,andofoldgrowth.Andtheboudoir-oratoire—youshouldmakethatroomyourstudyitissoquietandsolemn.” Heeyedmecloselyhehalf-smiled,half-coloured.“Wheredidyoupickupallthat?Whotoldyou?”heasked. “Nobodytoldme.DidIdreamit,Monsieur,doyouthink?” “CanIenterintoyourvisions?CanIguessawoman’swakingthoughts,muchlesshersleepingfantasies?” “IfIdreamtit,Isawinmydreamhumanbeingsaswellasahouse.Isawapriest,old,bent,andgrey,andadomestic—old,too,andpicturesqueandalady,splendidbutstrangeherheadwouldscarcereachtomyelbow—hermagnificencemightransomaduke.Sheworeagownbrightaslapis-lazuli—ashawlworthathousandfrancs:shewasdeckedwithornamentssobrilliant,Ineversawanywithsuchabeautifulsparklebutherfigurelookedasifithadbeenbrokenintwoandbentdoublesheseemedalsotohaveoutlivedthecommonyearsofhumanity,andtohaveattainedthosewhichareonlylabourandsorrow.Shewasbecomemorose—almostmalevolentyetsomebody,itappears,caredforherinherinfirmities—somebodyforgavehertrespasses,hopingtohavehistrespassesforgiven.Theylivedtogether,thesethreepeople—themistress,thechaplain,theservant—allold,allfeeble,allshelteredunderonekindwing.” Hecoveredwithhishandtheupperpartofhisface,butdidnotconcealhismouth,whereIsawhoveringanexpressionIliked. “Iseeyouhaveenteredintomysecrets,”saidhe,“buthowwasitdone?” SoItoldhimhow—thecommissiononwhichIhadbeensent,thestormwhichhaddetainedme,theabruptnessofthelady,thekindnessofthepriest. “AsIsatwaitingfortheraintocease,PèreSilaswhiledawaythetimewithastory,”Isaid. “Astory!Whatstory?PèreSilasisnoromancist.” “ShallItellMonsieurthetale?” “Yes:beginatthebeginning.LetmehearsomeofMissLucy’sFrench—herbestorherworst—Idon’tmuchcarewhich:letushaveagoodpoignéeofbarbarisms,andabounteousdoseoftheinsularaccent.” “Monsieurisnotgoingtobegratifiedbyataleofambitiousproportions,andthespectacleofthenarratorstickingfastinthemidst.ButIwilltellhimthetitle—the‘Priest’sPupil.’” “Bah!”saidhe,theswarthyflushagaindyeinghisdarkcheek.“Thegoodoldfathercouldnothavechosenaworsesubjectitishisweakpoint.Butwhatofthe‘Priest’sPupil?’” “Oh!manythings.” “Youmayaswelldefinewhatthings.Imeantoknow.” “Therewasthepupil’syouth,thepupil’smanhood—hisavarice,hisingratitude,hisimplacability,hisinconstancy.Suchabadpupil,Monsieur!—sothankless,cold-hearted,unchivalrous,unforgiving! “Etpuis?”saidhe,takingacigar. “Etpuis,”Ipursued,“heunderwentcalamitieswhichonedidnotpity—boretheminaspiritonedidnotadmire—enduredwrongsforwhichonefeltnosympathyfinallytooktheunchristianrevengeofheapingcoalsoffireonhisadversary’shead.” “Youhavenottoldmeall,”saidhe. “Nearlyall,Ithink:IhaveindicatedtheheadsofPèreSilas’schapters.” “Youhaveforgottenone—thatwhichtouchedonthepupil’slack