Chaumonot could not contain his indignation against this fallacious

reasoning. He knew that his words might lose him a thousand livres;

nevertheless he said bravely: "Monsieur le Marquis, it is such men as

yourself who make the age what it is; it is philosophy such as yours

that corrupts and degenerates. It is wrong, I say, a thousand times

wrong. Being without faith, you are without a place to stand on; you

are without hope; you live in darkness, and everything before you must

be hollow, empty, joyless. You think, yet deny the existence of a

soul! Folly has indeed been your god. Oh, Monsieur, it is frightful!"

And the zealot rose and crossed himself, expecting a fiery outburst and

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instant dismissal. He could not repress a sigh. A thousand livres

were a great many.

But the marquis acted quite contrary to his expectations. He

astonished the good man by laughing and pounding the floor with his

cane.

"Good!" he cried. "I like a man of your kidney. You have an opinion

and the courage to support it. You are still less a Jesuit than a man.

Brother Jacques here might have acquiesced to all my theories rather

than lose a thousand livres."

"You are wrong, Monsieur," replied Brother Jacques quietly. "I should

go to further lengths of disapprobation. I should say that Monsieur le

Marquis's philosophy is the cult of fools and of madmen, did I not know

that he was simply testing our patience when he advanced such

impossible theories."

"What! two of them?" sarcastically. "I compliment you both upon

risking my good will for an idea."

Chaumonot sighed more deeply. The marquis motioned him to his chair.

"Sit down, Monsieur; you have gained my respect. Frankness in a

Jesuit? Come; what has the Society come to that frankness replaces

cunning and casuistry? Bah! There never was an age but had its prude

to howl 'O these degenerate days!' Corrupt and degenerate you say?

Yes; that is the penalty of greatness, richness, and idleness. It

began with the Egyptians, it struck Rome and Athens; it strikes France

to-day. Yesterday we wore skins and furs, to-day silks and woolens,

to-morrow . . . rags, mayhap. But listen: human nature has not changed

in these seven thousand years, nor will change. Only governments and

fashions change . . . and religions."

There was a pause. Chaumonot wondered vaguely how he could cope with

this man who was flint, yet unresponsive to the stroke of steel. Had

the possibility of the thousand livres become nothing? Again he

sighed. He glanced at Brother Jacques, but Brother Jacques was

following the marquis's lead . . . sorting visions in the crumbling,

glowing logs. As for the Indian, he was admiring the chandelier.

"Monsieur," said Brother Jacques, breaking the silence, but not

removing his gaze from the logs, "it is said that you have killed many

men in duels."




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