enough! The master-surgeon, the atheist at heart, the worshiper by
chance. The mystery was greater than ever; the regularity of the
phenomenon complicated it. When Desplein had left, Bianchon went to the
sacristan, who took charge of the chapel, and asked him whether the
gentleman were a constant worshiper.

"For twenty years that I have been here," replied the man, "M. Desplein
has come four times a year to attend this mass. He founded it."

"A mass founded by him!" said Bianchon, as he went away. "This is as
great a mystery as the Immaculate Conception--an article which alone is
enough to make a physician an unbeliever."

Some time elapsed before Doctor Bianchon, though so much his friend,
found an opportunity of speaking to Desplein of this incident of his
life. Though they met in consultation, or in society, it was difficult
to find an hour of confidential solitude when, sitting with their feet
on the fire-dogs and their head resting on the back of an armchair, two
men tell each other their secrets. At last, seven years later, after the
Revolution of 1830, when the mob invaded the Archbishop's residence,
when Republican agitators spurred them on to destroy the gilt crosses
which flashed like streaks of lightning in the immensity of the ocean of
houses; when Incredulity flaunted itself in the streets, side by side
with Rebellion, Bianchon once more detected Desplein going into
Saint-Sulpice. The doctor followed him, and knelt down by him without the
slightest notice or demonstration of surprise from his friend. They both
attended this mass of his founding.

"Will you tell me, my dear fellow," said Bianchon, as they left the
church, "the reason for your fit of monkishness? I have caught you three