"I am known to be such! None better known in Paris, M.le Coadjuteur." "Men are known by their works!" the priest retorted.

"Now, now," he continued, abruptly raising his voice, and lifting his hand in a kind of exaltation, real or feigned, "is the appointed time! And now is the day of salvation! and woe, Mirepoix, woe! woe! to the backslider, and to him that putteth his hand to the plough and looketh back to-night!" The layman cowered and shrank before his fierce denunciation; while Madame de Pavannes gazed from one to the other as if her dislike for the priest were so great that seeing the two thus quarrelling, she almost forgave Mirepoix his offence.

"Mirepoix said he could explain," she murmured irresolutely.
The Coadjutor fixed his baleful eyes on him.

"Mirepoix," he said grimly, "can explain nothing! Nothing! I dare him to explain!" And certainly Mirepoix thus challenged was silent.

"Come," the priest continued peremptorily, turning to the lady who had entered with him, "your sister must leave with us at once.