—­It is with fine words that we do fine things, and one of them is, it appears, to unmoor you from this place.

—­The fact is, replied Marcel, that I have reflected to-night; and, after well considering everything, I am perfectly well off, and have no desire to go away to be worse off elsewhere.

—­Hey! what do you say?

—­My parish, humble as it is, is not so bad as you think.  The people are simple, kind and affable.  I love peace and tranquillity, and I tell you, between ourselves, that to be Cure in a large town has no attractions for me.

—­What stuff are you telling me now?

—­Your town Cures are full of meanness and intrigues.  The little I have seen of them has disgusted me for ever.  They spy one upon another.  It is who shall prejudice a fellow-priest in order to supplant him, or play the zealot in Monseigneur’s presence.  When I was the Bishop’s secretary, hardly a day passed without my being witness to some shameful piece of tale bearing.  You must weigh all your words, cover your looks and have a care even of your gestures.  The slightest imprudence is immediately commented on, exaggerated, embellished and retailed at head-quarters.  The Vicar General is the spy in general.

Marcel uttered the truth.

The position of the priest is a difficult one; he is surrounded with the malevolence of enemies.  But the priest’s chief enemy, is the priest.  As a body, they march together, close, compact, disciplined, defending their rights and the honour of the flag, resenting individually the insults offered to all, and all rejoicing at the success of each.  As individuals, they spy on one another, are jealous of one another, fight, accuse and judge one another; and they do all this hypocritically and by occult ways.  These hatreds and intrigues do not go outside the sanctuary domains.  It is a strange world which stirs within our world, a society within a society, a state within the State.  It is the behind-the-scenes of the temple, and it stretches from the sacristy to the parsonage, from the parsonage to the Palace.  The profane world suspects nothing; it passes unconcernedly by without dreaming that tempests are rumbling by its side.  But, like the revolutions raised by the eunuchs of the Seraglio, the intrigues of the sacristy have been known to change the face of nations.

The priest is the spy upon the priest.

Misfortune to the cassock which unbuttons itself before another cassock.  The old priests are aware of this, and when they are among themselves, they draw the folds of their black robe close, carefully hiding the least tell-tale opening.  But the young ones, simple and unreserved, often let themselves be taken.  They sound them and turn them up, and soon know what they have underneath.  In order to please Monseigneur and to deserve the good graces of the Palace, there are few priests who resist the temptation to sell their brother-priest, and are not ready to deny Jesus like Peter the good apostle, the first and the model of the Roman pontiffs, three times before cock-crow, that is to say before Monseigneur gets up.