—­And so he has broken with all his past, his relations, his world; he has ruined what you men call his future.  He must begin his life again.

—­And he begins it again in accordance with his inclinations, his needs and his heart:  It is never too late to change the road when we discover that we have taken the wrong way.  It takes longer time, there is more hardship, but what matters it, provided we attain happiness, the end which we all have in view.  Ah, Mademoiselle, how many, like he, would wish to begin their life again, if they found a courageous soul who was willing to accompany them?  The future, do you say?  But the future, the present, the past, the whole life lies in the sweet union of hearts.  To devote oneself, to renounce everything, to give up everything, even one’s illusions, one’s beliefs, one’s dreams for the loved object, is not a sacrifice:  it is the sweetest of joys and the noblest of duties.

He stopped, fearing that he had gone too far, and did not dare to look at Suzanne.

She answered coldly.  “Ah, Monsieur le Cure, you approve of that!  I did not think you would have approved of Pere Hyacinth; truly, I am astonished.”

Monsieur le Cure!  It was the first time Suzanne had called him Monsieur le Cure.  That name wounded him like an affront.  He remembered what he was, and what he must not cease to be in the eyes of the young girl:  the Cure! nothing but the Cure.

And he was sick at heart for several days.

But one fine morning, on coming out from Mass, his countenance lit up, he uttered a cry of joy and fell into the arms of Abbe Ridoux.

LXII.

THE HAPPY CURE

“Such was Socrates said to have been, because the outside beholders, and those estimating him by his external appearance, would not have given the slice of an onion, so plain was he in his person, and ridiculous in his bearing ... simple in habits, poor in fortune, unfortunate with women, unfit for all the offices of the republic, always laughing, always drinking with one or another, always sporting, always concealing his divine wisdom.”

  RABELAIS (Gargantua).

Monsieur Ridoux was a very good fellow, but he was not handsome.  A big nose, a big belly, blinking eyes, an enormous mouth, hair on end, the arm of a chimpanzee, and the legs of a Greenlander.  At first sight, he gave me the impression of a monkey with young.

But what is a man’s outward form?  The vessel, more or less regular, filled with a baneful or beneficent liquid, and you all know that the shape of the flagon has no influence on the quality of the wine.

The outward form is the wrapper of the goods:  very often that wrapper is brilliant and gilded, of satin or watered silk, and the goods are adulterated and spoiled.  At other times the wrapper is rough and coarse, but it enfolds precious commodities.