Next day both the Substitut and I were to be received by the Abbot.  It struck me as desirable that we should have our interviews separately, for as the Substitut was making a “retreat,” he might wish to say many private things to the Abbot which he would not like me, a heretic, to overhear.  As soon as he had finished, I was ushered in alone to the Abbot’s parlour.  I found the Abbot very dignified and very friendly, but what possible subject of conversation could a Protestant youth of seventeen find which would interest the Father Superior of a French Monastery, presumably indifferent to everything that passed outside its walls?  Suddenly I had an inspiration:  the Arian Heresy!  We had had four lessons on this interesting topic at Chittenden’s five years earlier (surely rather an advanced subject for little boys of twelve!), and some of the details still stuck in my head.  A brilliant idea!  Soon we were at it hammer and tongs; discussing Arius, Alexander, and Athanasius; the Council of Nicaea, Hosius of Cordova, homo-ousion and homoi-ousion; Eusebius of Nicomedia, and his namesake of Caesarea.

Without intending any disrespect to these two eminent Fathers of the Church, the two Eusebius’ always reminded me irresistibly of the two Ajaxes of Offenbach’s opera-bouffe.  La Belle Helene, or, later on, of the “Two Macs” of the music-hall stage of the “nineties.”  I blessed Mr. Chittenden for having so thoughtfully provided me with conversational small-change suitable for Abbots.  The Abbot was, I think, a little surprised at my theological lore.  He asked me where I had acquired it, and when I told him that it was at school, he presumed that I had been at a seminary for youths destined for the priesthood, an idea which would have greatly shocked the ultra-Evangelical Mr. Chittenden.

I was very glad that I had passed those three days at La Trappe, for it gave one a glimpse into a wholly unsuspected world.  The impression of the tremendous severity with which the lives of the monks were regulated, remained with me.  The excellent monks made the most absurdly small charges for our board and lodging.  Years afterwards I spent a night in an Orthodox Monastery in Russia, when I regretfully recalled the scrupulous cleanliness of La Trappe.  Never have I shared a couch with so many uninvited guests, and never have I been so ruthlessly devoured as in that Russian Monastery.

With June at Nyons, silkworm time arrived.  Three old women, celebrated for their skill in rearing silkworms, came down from the mountains, and the magnanerie, as lofts devoted to silkworm culture are called, was filled with huge trays fashioned with reeds.  The old women had a very strenuous fortnight or so, for silkworms demand immense care and attention.  The trays have to be perpetually cleaned out, and all stale mulberry leaves removed, for the quality and quantity of the silk depend on the most scrupulous cleanliness.  To preserve an even temperature,