anxious to meet the man who in these days of fastidious feeding and
luxurious living, had managed to gain such a holy reputation as to
be almost canonized in some folks' estimation before he was dead.
Hearing that Bonpre intended to stay a couple of nights in Rouen, he
cordially invited him to spend that time at his house,--but the
invitation had been gratefully yet firmly refused, much to the
Archbishop's amazement. This amazement increased considerably when
he learned that the dingy, comfortless, little Hotel Poitiers had
been selected by the Cardinal as his temporary lodging,--and it was
not without a pious murmur concerning "the pride which apes
humility" that he betook himself to that ancient and despised
hostelry, which had nothing whatever in the way of a modern
advantage to recommend it,--neither electric light, nor electric
bell, nor telephone. But he felt it incumbent upon him to pay a
fraternal visit to the Cardinal, who had become in a manner famous
without being at all aware of his fame,--and when finally in his
presence, he was conscious not only of a singular disappointment,
but an equally singular perplexity. Felix Bonpre was not at all the
sort of personage he had expected to see. He had imagined that a
Churchman who was able to obtain a character for saintliness in days
like these, must needs be worldly-wise and crafty, with a keen
perception and comprehension of the follies of mankind, and an
ability to use these follies advantageously to further his own ends.
Something of the cunning and foresight of an ancient Egyptian
sorcerer was in the composition of the Archbishop himself, for he
judged mankind alone by its general stupidity and credulity;--
stupidity and credulity which formed excellent ground for the
working of miracles, whether such miracles were wrought in the name
of Osiris or Christ. Mokanna, the "Veiled Prophet," while corrupt to
the core with unnameable vices, had managed in his time to delude