The gravity of a Spaniard, the deep furrows which the myriad scars of
virulent smallpox made hideously like broken ruts, were ploughed into
his face, which was sallow and tanned by the sun. The hardness of this
countenance was all the more conspicuous, being framed in the meagre
dry wig of a priest who takes no care of his person, a black wig
looking rusty in the light. His athletic frame, his hands like an old
soldier's, his broad, strong shoulders were those of the Caryatides
which the architects of the Middle Ages introduced into some Italian
palaces, remotely imitated in those of the front of the
Porte-Saint-Martin theatre. The least clear-sighted observer might
have seen that fiery passions or some unwonted accident must have
thrown this man into the bosom of the Church; certainly none but the
most tremendous shocks of lightning could have changed him, if indeed
such a nature were susceptible of change.

Women who have lived the life that Esther had so violently repudiated
come to feel absolute indifference as to the critics of our day, who
may be compared with them in some respects, and who feel at last
perfect disregard of the formulas of art; they have read so many
books, they see so many pass away, they are so much accustomed to
written pages, they have gone through so many plots, they have seen so
many dramas, they have written so many articles without saying what
they meant, and have so often been treasonable to the cause of Art in
favor of their personal likings and aversions, that they acquire a
feeling of disgust of everything, and yet continue to pass judgment.
It needs a miracle to make such a writer produce sound work, just as
it needs another miracle to give birth to pure and noble love in the
heart of a courtesan.

The tone and manner of this priest, who seemed to have escaped from a