'I lodged on the fifth, madame on the second, floor of the same house in Paris.' I leaned forward and plucked the hem of his black robe.

'What is this ?' I said, with a little contempt.

'You are not a priest, man.' 'No,' he answered, fingering the stuff himself, and gazing at me in a curious, vacant fashion.

'I am a student of the Sorbonne.' I drew off from him with a muttered oath, wondering--while I looked at him with suspicious eyes--how he came to be here, and particularly how he came to be in attendance on my mother, who had been educated from childhood in the Religion, and had professed it in private all her life.
I could think of no one who, in old days, would have been less welcome in her house than a Sorbonnist, and began to fancy that here should lie the secret of her miserable condition.
'You don't like, the Sorbonne ?' he said, reading my thoughts; which were, indeed, plain enough.
'No more than I love the devil!' I said bluntly.
He leaned forward and, stretching out a thin, nervous hand, laid it on my knee.

'What if they are right, though ?' he muttered, his voice hoarse.