and the greatest of all sins, I have just told you is scandalous living."
"Oh! but all the world lives so. There is not one of us but affords matter for evil tongues. Surely heaven does not think right to punish us for the maliciousness of others."
"Heaven punishes disobedience to its laws, it punishes indifference. It sends us warnings; if we neglect them, nothing can save us any more."
Monsieur de Chauvelin made no answer, but began to reflect deeply. Meantime the Marquise, seeing the conversation well begun, discreetly withdrew, praying God from the bottom of her heart that it might bear good fruit. After a long silent pause, during which the Monk watched his face, Monsieur de Chauvelin turned suddenly to him:
"Look you, my father, you are right; I repent of having been over long young, and I would fain confess to you, for I feel, I do feel, that death is near."
"You think so; and yet you take no measures either for your soul's salvation or the preservation of your fortune. You fear you are going to die; yet you never give a thought to the will you are bound to make, considering the position you will leave your heirs in. Forgive me. Monsieur le Marquis, if perhaps my zeal and my devotion to your house carry me too far."
"No, you are right in this too, my father; however, rest assured the will you speak of is drawn up, and only lacks my signature."
"You fear you are going to die, and you are in no state to appear before God."
"May He have mercy upon me; I was born in the Christian faith, and I would fain die a Christian. Come to-morrow, I beg you ; we will resume this discourse of ours, which will give me back my peace of mind."
"To-morrow! why to-morrow? Death does not turn back nor stay his course."
"I need time for thought and self communion, I cannot so soon forget the life I have led, however much I may regret it. I thank you for your counsel, my father; it will not be unfruitful."
"God grant it! but you know the wise man's axiom,—never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day."
"I already owe you my thanks; I was discouraged and you have comforted my spirits. One cannot do everything at once, my father."
"Oh! Monsieur le Marquis," replied the Monk, with a respectful bow, "it needs but a minute to turn a sinner into a penitent, a lost soul into one of the elect. If only you would ..."
"Well and good, my father, to-morrow. There I hear the dinner bell,"—and he dismissed him with a wave of the hand, and plunged down a side path.
The tutor came up to Père Delar. "What is wrong with the Marquis? He is quite changed; usually so light-hearted, he is grown anxious, gloomy, haggard."
"He feels a presentiment of his approaching end, and thinks of amending his life; 'tis a very fine conversion, that will do great honour to my Order. Ah! if only the King . . ."
"Ah ha!' appetite grows by what it feeds on,' as they say, father; yet I greatly fear your wishes will remain unfulfilled in this case. His Majesty is hard to persuade. Besides he has his official converters; the Bishop of Seez is spoken of as a very doughty champion."
"Oh! the King is not so great an unbeliever as people think; remember his illness at Metz and how he sent Madame de Chateauroux packing."
"Yes, but at that date Louis XV. was still young, and it was not a question of expelling Jeanne Vaubernier,—two circumstances which alter the case enormously. Well, you have time enough to see to it, my dear Monsieur Delar; mean- -time, as the dinner bell has rung, the point is not to keep Monsieur le Marquis waiting. He does not often afford us the happiness of dining with us."
The dinner, for which the Père Delar and the Abbe V . . . arrived in good time, was enlivened by the presence of father, mother and children, as had been expected. Never had the Marquise looked so gay and happy; never had she been more obliging in doing the honours of her table. The cook had surpassed himself. The best fish of the fish-ponds, the finest poultry of the poultry-yard, the juiciest fruit of the greenhouses and vineries reminded the Marquis how well-stocked was his house when it became a question of fêting a beloved lord and master. The servants, proud to be serving once more so distinguished a
