tion, that I was already congratulated upon the honors which it was thought I was sure of obtaining, and, without my having solicited it, my name was entered on the list for a vacant benefice. Nor was piety neglected; I was full of fervor in my attention to all religious exercises.
Tiberge was overjoyed at what he regarded as his own work, and I more than once saw him shedding tears of pure delight as he proudly contemplated what he called my conversion.
That human resolutions should be liable to change has
never been a matter of astonishment to me; they are born of one passion—another passion may destroy them; but when I reflect on the sacred nature of those which had led me to St. Sulpice, and on the inward joy which Heaven allowed me to taste in carrying them out, I am appalled at the ease with which I was able to break them.
If it be true that divine aid at all times supplies a strength equal to that of the passions, thep let it be explained to me by what fatal ascendancy one finds one's self suddenly swept far from the path of duty without feeling one's self capable of the least resistance and without being conscious of the least remorse? I believed myself to be completely delivered from the frailties of love. It seemed to me that
