M. Gottofrey rarely spoke to me, but he followed me with the utmost curiosity.  My arguments in Latin, delivered with much firmness and emphasis, caused him surprise and uneasiness.  Sometimes, I was too much in the right; at others I pointed out the weak points in the reasons given me as valid.  Upon one occasion, when my objections had been urged with force, and when some of the listeners could not repress a smile at the weakness of the replies, he broke off the discussion.  In the evening he called me on one side, and described to me with much warmth how unchristian it was to place all faith in reasoning, and how injurious an effect rationalism had upon faith.  He displayed a remarkable amount of animation, and reproached me with my fondness for study.  What was to be gained, he said, by further research.  Everything that was essential to be known had already been discovered.  It was not by knowledge that men’s souls were saved.  And gradually working himself up, he exclaimed in passionate accents—­” You are not a Christian!”

I never felt such terror as that which this phrase, pronounced in a very resonant tone, evoked within me.  In leaving M. Gottofrey’s presence the words “You are not a Christian” sounded all night in my ear like a clap of thunder.  The next day I confided my troubles to M. Gosselin, who kindly reassured me, and who could not or would not see anything wrong.  He made no effort, even, to conceal from me how surprised and annoyed he was at this ill-timed attempt upon a conscience for which he, more than any one else, was responsible.  I am sure that he looked upon the hasty action of M. Gottofrey as a piece of impudence, the only result of which would be to disturb a dawning vocation.  M. Gosselin, like many directors, was of opinion that religious doubts are of no gravity among young men when they are disregarded, and that they disappear when the future career has been finally entered upon.  He enjoined me not to think of what had occurred, and I even found him more kindly than ever before.  He did not in the least understand the nature of my mind, or in any degree foresee its future logical evolutions.  M. Gottofrey alone had a clear perception of things.  He was right a dozen times over, as I can now very plainly see.  It needed the transcendent lucidity of this martyr and ascetic to discover that which had quite escaped those who directed my conscience with so much uprightness and goodness.

I talked too with M. Manier, who strongly advised me not to let my faith in Christianity be affected by objections of detail.  With regard to the question of entering holy orders, he was always very reserved.  He never said anything which was calculated either to induce me or dissuade me.  This was in his eyes more or less of a secondary consideration.  The essential point, as he thought, was the possession of the true Christian spirit, inseparable from real philosophy.  In his eyes there was no difference between a priest, or professor of Scotch philosophy, in the university.  He often dwelt upon the honourable nature of such a career, and more than once he spoke to me of the Ecole Normale.  I did not speak of this overture to M. Gosselin, for assuredly the very idea of leaving the seminary for the Ecole Normale, would have seemed to him perdition.