He asked whether Durtal had taken the Sacrament.

And perceiving that his penitent always came back to his shame of the inert and torpid grief that came over him in contemplation of the Holy Sacrament, the old priest said to him,-- "That is no concern of yours; all you have to do is to pray to the best of your power.

The rest is my concern--if the far from triumphant state of your soul only makes you a little humble, that is all I ask of you." "Humble! I am like a water cooler; my vanity sweats out at every pore as the water oozes from the clay." "It is some consolation to me that you perceive it," said the Abbe, smiling.

"It would be far worse if you did not know yourself, if you were so proud as to believe that you had no pride." "But how then am I to set to work?
You advise me to pray; but teach me at least how not to dissipate myself in every direction, for as soon as I try to collect myself I go to pieces; I live in a perpetual state of dissolution.

It is like a thing arranged on purpose; as soon as I try to shut the cage all my thoughts fly off--they deafen me with their chirping." The Abbe was thinking.
"I know," said he; "nothing is more difficult than to free the spirit from the images that take possession of it.