made a bound as if he had received a sharp blow from a whip across
his back, and in his agitation and haste to reach his stool, he
struck violently against the corner of a carved sideboard; this
terrible shock drew from him a cry of pain, but did not arrest his
speed, and rubbing his hip, he threw himself into his place and,
without giving himself time to recover breath, he mumbled in a
nasal tone and in an unintelligible voice, a grace which he soon
finished, and everybody having made the sign of the cross, dinner
was served.

"What a strange role religion plays here," thought Gilbert to
himself as he carried his spoon to his lips. "They would on no
account dine until it had blessed the soup, and at the same time
they banish it to the end of the table as a leper whose impure
contact they fear."

During the first part of the repast, Gilbert's attention was
concentrated on Father Alexis. This priestly face excited his
curiosity. At first sight it seemed impressed with a certain
majesty, which was heightened by the black folds of his robe, and
the gold crucifix which hung upon his breast. Father Alexis had a
high, open forehead; his large, strongly aquiline nose gave a manly
character to his face; his black eyes, finely set, were surmounted
by well-curved eyebrows, and his long grizzly beard harmonized very
well with his bronzed cheeks furrowed by venerable wrinkles. Seen
in repose, this face had a character of austere and imposing
beauty. And if you had looked at Father Alexis in his sleep, you
would have taken him for a holy anchorite recently come out of the
desert, or better still, for a Saint John contemplating with closed
eyes upon the height of his Patmos rock, the sublime visions of the