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 instant dismissal.