“Nothing!” exclaimed the Abbe, “You say this?”

“I say it!” And Bonpre’s thin worn features grew transfigured with the fervour of his thought.  “I am a priest of the Church—­but I am also a man!—­with reason, with brain, and with a love of truth;—­and I can faithfully say I have an almost jealous honour for my Master—­ but I repeat, heresy against the Church is nothing,—­it is heresy against Christ which is the crime of the age,—­and in that, the very Church is heretic!  Heresy against Christ!—­Heresy against Christ!  A whole system of heresy!  ’I never knew you,—­depart from me, ye workers of iniquity,’ will be our Lord’s words at the Last Judgment!”

The Abbe’s wonderment increased.  He looked down a moment, then looked up, and a quizzical, half-melancholy expression filled his eyes.

“Well, I am very much concerned in all this,” he said, “I wanted to have a private talk with you on my own account, principally because I know you to be a good man, while I am a bad one.  I have a trouble here,—­” and he touched the region of his heart, “which the wise doctors say may end my days at any moment; two years at the utmost is the ultimatum of my life, so I want to know from you, whom I know to be intelligent and honest, whether you believe I am going to another existence,—­and if so, what sort of a one you think is in prospect for such a man as I am?  Now don’t pity me, my dear Bonpre,- -don’t pity me!—­” and he laughed a little huskily as the Cardinal took his hand and pressed it with a silent sympathy more eloquent than words, “We must all die,—­and if I am to go somewhat sooner than I expected, that is nothing to compassionate me for.  But there is just a little uncertainty in my mind,—­I am not at all sure that death is the end—­I wish I could be quite positive of the fact.  I was once—­quite positive.  But science, instead of giving me this absolute comfort has in its later progress upset all my former calculations, and I am afraid I must own that there is indubitably Something Else,—­which to my mind seems distinctly disagreeable!”

Though the Abbe spoke lightly, the troubled look remained in his eyes and the Cardinal saw it.

“My dear Vergniaud,” he began gently, “I am grieved at what you tell me—­”

“No, don’t be grieved,” interrupted Vergniaud, “because that is not it.  Talk to me!  Tell me what you truly think.  That this life is only a schoolroom where we do our lessons more or less badly?—­That death is but the name for another life?  Now do not force your faith for me.  Tell me your own honest conviction.  Do we end?—­or do we begin again?  Be frank and fair and true; according to the very latest science, remember!—­not according to the latest hocus-pocus of twelfth-century mandate issued from Rome.  You see how frank I am, and how entirely I go with you.  But I am going further than you,—­I am bound for the last voyage—­so you must not offer me the wrong pass-word to the shore!”