poor Cassandra, who was equally cursed before and after the disaster
she predicted. Short of a revolution the Abbe Dutheil was likely to
remain as he was, one of those stones hidden in the foundation wall on
which the edifice rests. His utility was recognized and they left him
in his place, like many other solid minds whose rise to power is the
terror of mediocrities. If, like the Abbe de Lamennais, he had taken
up his pen he would doubtless, like him, have been blasted by the
court of Rome.

The Abbe Dutheil was imposing in appearance. His exterior revealed the
underlying of a profound nature always calm and equable on the
surface. His tall figure and its thinness did not detract from the
general effect of his lines, which recalled those by which the genius
of Spanish painters delights to represent the great monastic
meditators, and those selected at a later period by Thorwaldsen for
the Apostles. The long, almost rigid folds of the face, in harmony
with those of his vestment, had the charm which the middle-ages bring
into relief in the mystical statues placed beside the portals of their
churches. Gravity of thought, word, and accent, harmonized in this man
and became him well. Seeing his dark eyes hollowed by austerities and
surrounded by a brown circle; seeing, too, his forehead, yellow as
some old stone, his head and hands almost fleshless, men desired to
hear the voice and the instructions which issued from his lips. This
purely physical grandeur which accords with moral grandeur, gave this
priest a somewhat haughty and disdainful air, which was instantly
counteracted to an observer by his modesty and by his speech, though
it did not predispose others in his favor. In some more elevated
station these advantages would have obtained that necessary ascendancy
over the masses which the people willingly allow to men who are thus
endowed. But superiors will not forgive their inferiors for possessing