I will await you myself at Paris until Tuesday.
You only require to say so, monsieur, to accept in your own name one of the best livings in the environs of Paris.
The richest of your future parishioners has never seen you, but is more devoted than you can possibly think: he is the Marquis de la Mole."
Without having suspected it, the stern abbe Pirard loved this seminary, peopled as it was by his enemies, but to which for the past fifteen years he had devoted all his thoughts.
M. de la Mole's letter had the effect on him of the visit of the surgeon come to perform a difficult but necessary operation.
His dismissal was certain.
He made an appointment with the steward for three days later.
For forty-eight hours he was in a fever of uncertainty.
Finally he wrote to the M. de la Mole, and composed for my Lord the Bishop a letter, a masterpiece of ecclesiastical style, although it was a little long; it would have been difficult to have found more unimpeachable phrases, and ones breathing a more sincere respect.
And nevertheless, this letter, intended as it was to get M. de Frilair into trouble with his patron, gave utterance to all the serious matters of complaint, and even descended to the little squalid intrigues which, having been endured with resignation for six years, were forcing the abbe Pirard to leave the diocese.
They stole his firewood, they poisoned his dog, etc., etc.
Having finished this letter he had Julien called. Like all the other seminarists, he was sleeping at eight o'clock in the evening.
"You know where the Bishop's Palace is," he said to him in good classical Latin.
"Take this letter to my Lord.
I will not hide from you that I am sending you into the midst of the wolves.
Be all ears and eyes.
Let there be no lies in your answers, but realise that the man questioning you will possibly experience a real joy in being able to hurt you.
I am very pleased, my child, at being able to give you this experience before I leave you, for I do not hide from you that the letter which you are bearing is my resignation."
Julien stood motionless.
He loved the abbe Pirard.
It was in vain that prudence said to him,
"After this honest man's departure the Sacre-C?ur party will disgrace me and perhaps expel me."
He could not think of himself.
He was embarrassed by a phrase which he was trying to turn in a polite way, but as a matter of fact he found himself without the brains to do so.
"Well, my friend, are you not going?"
"Is it because they say, monsieur," answered Julian timidly, "that you have put nothing on one side during your long administration.
I have six hundred francs."
His tears prevented him from continuing.
"That also will be noticed," said the ex-director of the seminary coldly.
"Go to the Palace. It is getting late."
Chance would so have it that on that evening, the abbe de Frilair was on duty in the salon of the Palace.
My lord was dining with the prefect, so it was to M. de Frilair himself that Julien, though he did not know it, handed the letter.
Julien was astonished to see this abbe boldly open the letter which was addressed to the Bishop.
The face of the Grand Vicar soon expressed surprise, tinged with a lively pleasure, and became twice as grave as before.
Julien, struck with his good appearance, found time to scrutinise him while he was reading.
This face would have possessed more dignity had it not been for the extreme subtlety which appeared in some features, and would have gone to the fact of actually denoting falseness if the possessor of this fine countenance had ceased to school it for a single minute.
The very prominent nose formed a perfectly straight line and unfortunately gave to an otherwise distinguished profile, a curious resemblance to the physiognomy of a fox.
Otherwise this abbe, who appeared so engrossed with Monsieur Pirard's resignation, was dressed with an elegance which Julien had never seen before in any priest and which pleased him exceedingly.
It was only later that Julien knew in what the special talent of the abbe de Frilair really consisted.
He knew how to amuse his bishop, an amiable old man made for Paris life, and who looked upon Besancon as exile.
This Bishop had very bad sight, and was passionately fond of fish.
The abbe de Frilair used to take the bones out of the fish which was served to my Lord.
Julien looked silently at the abbe who was rereading the resignation when the door suddenly opened with a noise.
A richly dressed lackey passed in rapidly. Julien had only time to turn round towards the door. He perceived a little old man wearing a pectoral cross.
He prostrated himself. The Bishop addressed a benevolent smile to him and passed on.
The handsome abbe followed him and Julien was left alone in the salon, and was able to admire at his leisure its pious magnificence.
The Bishop of Besancon, a man whose spirit had been tried but not broken by the long miseries of the emigration, was more than seventy-five years old and concerned himself infinitely little with what might happen in ten years' time.
"Who is that clever-looking seminarist I think I saw as I passed?" said the Bishop. "Oughtn't they to be in bed according to my regulations."
"That one is very wide-awake I assure you, my Lord, and he brings great news. It is the resignation of the only Jansenist residing in your diocese, that terrible abbe Pirard realises at last that we mean business."
"Well," said the Bishop with a laugh.