“That is an absurd thought, allow me to say, Henri; for whoever, in point of fact, wishes to isolate himself, is alone everywhere.  But the cloister, let it be.  Well, then, I understand that you have come to talk to me about this project.  I know of some very learned Benedictines, and some very clever Augustines, whose houses are cheerful, adorned with flowers, attractive, and agreeable in every respect.  Amid the works of science and art you will pass a delightful year, in excellent society, which is of no slight importance, for one should avoid lowering one’s self in this world; and if at the end of the year you persist in your project, well, then, my dear Henri, I will not oppose you any further, and will myself open the door which will peacefully conduct you to everlasting rest.”

“Most certainly you still misunderstand me, my brother,” replied Du Bouchage, shaking his head, “or I should rather say your generous intelligence will not comprehend me.  I do not wish for a cheerful residence or a delightful retreat, but a rigorously strict seclusion, as gloomy as the grave itself.  I intend to pronounce my vows, vows which will leave me no other thought or occupation than a grave to dig for myself, or constant prayer.”

The cardinal frowned, and rose from his seat.

“Yes,” he said, “I did perfectly understand you; and I endeavored by opposition, without set phrases or discussion, to combat the folly of your resolutions, but you oblige me to do so; and now listen to me.”

“Ah!” said Henri, despondently, “do not try to convince me; it is impossible.”

“Brother, I will speak to you in the name of Heaven, in the first place; of Heaven, which you offend in saying that this wild resolution is of its inspiration.  Heaven does not accept sacrifices hastily made.  You are weak, since you allow yourself to be conquered by a first disappointment; how can Heaven be pleased to accept a victim as unworthy as that you offer?”

Henri started at his brother’s remark.

“Oh!  I shall no longer spare you.  Henri, you, who never consider any of us,” returned the cardinal; “you, who forget the grief which you will cause our elder brother, and will cause me too—­”

“Forgive me,” interrupted Henri, whose cheeks were dyed with crimson, “forgive me, monseigneur; but is the service of Heaven then so gloomy and so dishonorable a career that all the members of a family are to be thrown into distress by it?  You, for instance, my brother, whose portrait I observe suspended in this room, with all this gold, and diamonds, and purple around you, are you not both the delight and honor of our house, although you have chosen the service of Heaven, as my eldest brother has chosen that of the kings of the earth?”