basely born."

The Jesuit gazed thoughtfully into his bowl. "Yes, some are nobly and
some are basely born. I have often contemplated what a terrible thing
it must be to possess a delicate, sensitive soul and a body disowned;
to long for the glories of the world from behind the bar sinister, an
object of scorn, contumely and forgetfulness; to be cut away from the
love of women and the affection of men, the two strongest of human
ties; to dream what might and should have been; to be proved guilty of
a crime we did not commit; to be laughed at, to beg futilely, always
subject to that mental conflict between love and hate, charity and
envy. Yes; I can think of nothing which stabs so deeply as the finger
of ridicule, unmerited. I am not referring to the children of kings,
but to the forgotten by the lesser nobility."

His voice had risen steadily, losing its music but gaining a thrilling
intenseness. Strange words for a priest, thought the Chevalier, who
had spoken with irony aforethought. Glories of the world, the love of
women; did not all priests forswear these? Perhaps his eyes expressed
his thought, for he noted a faint color on the priest's checks.

"I am speaking as a moral physician, Monsieur," continued the priest,
his composure recovered; "one who seeks to observe all spiritual
diseases in order to apply a remedy."

"And is there a remedy for a case such as you have described?" asked
the Chevalier, half mockingly.

"Yes; God gives us a remedy even for such an ill."