of an immense empire, flinging down his crown, breaking his sceptre, trampling under foot unheard-of wealth, chests of gold, floods of jewels, and rich stuffs embroidered with precious stones, before going to bury himself in some Thebais, clothed in rough drugget that rasped his back.  Mass, however, snatched him from these heated fancies, upon which he looked back as upon some beautiful reality which might have been his lot in ancient times; and then, his communion made, he chanted the psalm for the day unconscious of any other voice than his own, which rang out with crystal purity, flying upward till it reached the very ear of the Lord.

When he returned to his room he ascended the stairs step by step, as advised by St. Bonaventura and St. Thomas Aquinas.  His gait was slow, his mien grave; he kept his head bowed as he walked along, finding ineffable delight in complying with the most trifling regulations.  Next came breakfast.  It was pleasant in the refectory to see the hunks of bread and the glasses of white wine, set out in rows.  He had a good appetite, and was of a joyous mood.  He would say, for instance, that the wine was truly Christian—­a daring allusion to the water which the bursar was taxed with putting in the bottles.  Still his gravity at once returned to him on going in to lectures.  He took notes on his knees, while the professor, resting his hands on the edge of his desk, talked away in familiar Latin, interspersed with an occasional word in French, when he was at fault for a better.  A discussion would then follow in which the students argued in a strange jargon, with never a smile upon their faces.  Then, at ten o’clock, there came twenty minutes’ reading of Holy Writ.  He fetched the Sacred Book, a volume richly bound and gilt-edged.  Having kissed it with especial reverence, he read it out bare-headed, bowing every time he came upon the name of Jesus, Mary, or Joseph.  And with the arrival of the second meditation he was ready to endure for love of God another and even longer spell of kneeling than the first.  He avoided resting on his heels for a second even.  He delighted in that examination of conscience which lasted for three-quarters of an hour.  He racked his memory for sins, and at times even fancied himself damned for forgetting to kiss the pictures on his scapular the night before, or for having gone to sleep upon his left side—­abominable faults which he would have willingly redeemed by wearing out his knees till night; and yet happy faults, in that they kept him busy, for without them he would have no occupation for his unspotted heart, steeped in a life of purity.