day of his first visit.

Thinking over this circumstance, he went as far as a bookseller's in
the rue Saint-Jacques, whence he returned with a very handsome copy of
the finest edition published in France of the "Imitation of Jesus
Christ." Walking slowly back, in order that he might arrive exactly at
the dinner hour, he recalled his own sensations during this morning
and he was conscious of a new impulse in his soul. He was seized by a
sudden and deep curiosity, but his curiosity paled before an
inexplicable desire. He was drawn to Madame de la Chanterie; he felt
the keenest desire to attach himself to her, to devote himself to her,
to please her, to deserve her praise: in short, he felt the first
emotions of platonic love; he saw glimpses of the untold grandeur of
that soul, and he longed to know it in its entirety. He grew impatient
to enter the inner lives of these pure Catholics. In that small
company of faithful souls, the majesty of practical religion was so
thoroughly blended with all that is most majestic in a French woman
that Godefroid resolved to leave no stone unturned to make himself
accepted as a true member of the little body. These feelings would
have been unnaturally sudden in a busy Parisian eagerly occupied with
life, but Godefroid was, as we have seen, in the position of a
drowning man who catches at every floating branch thinking it a solid
stay, and his soul, ploughed and furrowed with trial, was ready to
receive all seed.

He found the four friends in the salon, and he presented the book to
Madame de la Chanterie, saying:

"I did not like to deprive you of it to-night."