I have often contemplated what a terrible thing it must be to possess a delicate, sensitive soul and a body disowned; to long for the glories of the world from behind the bar sinister, an object of scorn, contumely and forgetfulness; to be cut away from the love of women and the affection of men, the two strongest of human ties; to dream what might and should have been; to be proved guilty of a crime we did not commit; to be laughed at, to beg futilely, always subject to that mental conflict between love and hate, charity and envy.

Yes; I can think of nothing which stabs so deeply as the finger of ridicule, unmerited.

I am not referring to the children of kings, but to the forgotten by the lesser nobility." His voice had risen steadily, losing its music but gaining a thrilling intenseness.

Strange words for a priest, thought the Chevalier, who had spoken with irony aforethought.

Glories of the world, the love of women; did not all priests forswear these?
Perhaps his eyes expressed his thought, for he noted a faint color on the priest's checks.
"I am speaking as a moral physician, Monsieur," continued the priest, his composure recovered; "one who seeks to observe all spiritual diseases in order to apply a remedy." "And is there a remedy for a case such as you have described ?" asked the Chevalier, half mockingly.
"Yes; God gives us a remedy even for such an ill." "And what might the remedy be ?" "Death." "What is your religious name, Monsieur ?" asked the Chevalier, strangely subdued.
"I am Father Jacques, _protege_ of the kindly Chaumonot.