“And yet honour and life are of some importance at your age,” replied the abbe, visibly irritated, but feigning a suaver manner than ever.  “Who knows into what folly religious fervour may lead the Trappist?  For, between ourselves be it said, my child—­you see, I am a man of moderation—­I knew the world in my youth, and I do not approve of these violent resolves, which are more often dictated by pride than piety.  For instance, I have consented to temper the austerity of our rules; my friars look well-fed, and they wear shirts.  Rest assured, my good sir, I am far from approving of your uncle’s design, and I shall do all that is possible to hinder it.  Yet, if he still persists, how will my efforts profit you?  He has obtained his superior’s permission, and may, after all, yield to his fatal inspiration.  You may be seriously compromised by an affair of this kind; for, although reports say that you are a worthy young gentleman, though you have abjured the errors of the past, and though, perhaps, your soul has always hated iniquity, you have certainly been involved in many misdeeds which human laws condemn and punish.  Who can tell into what involuntary revelations Brother Nepomucene may find himself drawn if he sets in motion the machinery of criminal proceedings?  Can he set it in motion against himself without at the same time setting it in motion against you?  Believe me, I wish for peace—­I am a kindly man.”

“Yes, a very kindly man, father,” I answered, in a tone of irony.  “I see that perfectly.  But do not let this matter cause you needless anxiety; for there is one very clear argument which must reassure both of us.  If a veritable religious impulse urges Brother John the Trappist to make a public reparation, it will be easy to make him understand that he ought to hesitate before he drags another than himself into the abyss; the spirit of Christ forbids him to do this.  But, if the truth is, as I presume, that M. Jean de Mauprat has not the least wish to hand himself over to justice, his threats are but little calculated to terrify me, and I shall take steps to prevent them from making more stir than is desirable.”

“So that is the only answer I am to give him?” asked the prior, darting a vindictive glance at me.

“Yes, sir,” I replied; “unless he would prefer to come here and receive the answer from my own mouth.  I came with a determination to conquer the disgust which his presence arouses in me; and I am astonished that, after expressing so much eagerness to see me, he should remain in the background when I arrive.”

“Sir,” answered the prior, with ridiculous majesty, “my duty is to see that the peace of our Lord reigns in this holy place.  I must, therefore, set myself against any interview which might lead to violent explanations . . .”

“You are much too easily frightened, sir,” I replied.  “There is nothing to arouse passion in this matter.  However, as it was not I who called for these explanations, and as I came here out of pure compliance, I most willingly refrain from pushing them further, and I thank you for having been good enough to act as intermediary.”