exhaustion brought on by the mercury.  That impure and always injurious metal had weakened my mind to such an extent that I had become almost besotted, and I fancied that until then my judgment had been insane.  The result was that, in my newly acquired wisdom, I took the resolution of leading a totally different sort of life in future.  De la Haye would often cry for joy when he saw me shedding tears caused by the contrition which he had had the wonderful cleverness to sow in my poor sickly soul.  He would talk to me of paradise and the other world, just as if he had visited them in person, and I never laughed at him!  He had accustomed me to renounce my reason; now to renounce that divine faculty a man must no longer be conscious of its value, he must have become an idiot.  The reader may judge of the state to which I was reduced by the following specimen.  One day, De la Haye said to me: 

“It is not known whether God created the world during the vernal equinox or during the autumnal one.”

“Creation being granted,” I replied, in spite of the mercury, “such a question is childish, for the seasons are relative, and differ in the different quarters of the globe.”

De la Haye reproached me with the heathenism of my ideas, told me that I must abandon such impious reasonings.... and I gave way!

That man had been a Jesuit.  He not only, however, refused to admit it, but he would not even suffer anyone to mention it to him.  This is how he completed his work of seduction by telling me the history of his life.

“After I had been educated in a good school,” he said, “and had devoted myself with some success to the arts and sciences, I was for twenty years employed at the University of Paris.  Afterwards I served as an engineer in the army, and since that time I have published several works anonymously, which are now in use in every boys’ school.  Having given up the military service, and being poor, I undertook and completed the education of several young men, some of whom shine now in the world even more by their excellent conduct than by their talents.  My last pupil was the Marquis Botta.  Now being without employment I live, as you see, trusting in God’s providence.  Four years ago, I made the acquaintance of Baron Bavois, from Lausanne, son of General Bavois who commanded a regiment in the service of the Duke of Modem, and afterwards was unfortunate enough to make himself too conspicuous.  The young baron, a Calvinist like his father, did not like the idle life he was leading at home, and he solicited me to undertake his education in order to fit him for a military career.  Delighted at the opportunity of cultivating his fine natural disposition, I gave up everything to devote myself entirely to my task.  I soon discovered that, in the question of faith, he knew himself to be in error, and that he remained a Calvinist only out of respect to his family.  When I had found out his secret feelings on that head,