dark staircase, he easily reached the door and passed noiselessly
out into the square. Walking a few steps hurriedly he paused, once
more listening. The night was intensely calm;--not a cloud crossed
the star-spangled violet dome of air wherein the moon soared
serenely, bathing all visible things in a crystalline brilliancy so
pure and penetrative, that the finest cuttings on the gigantic grey
facade of Notre Dame could be discerned and outlined as distinctly
as though every little portion were seen through a magnifying glass.
The Cardinal's tall attenuated figure, standing alone and almost in
the centre of the square, cast a long thin black shadow on the
glistening grey stones,--and his dream-impression of an empty world
came back forcibly upon him,--a world as empty as a hollow shell!
Houses there were around him, and streets, and a noble edifice
consecrated to the worship of God,--nevertheless there was a sense
of absolute desertion in and through all. Was not the Cathedral
itself the mere husk of a religion? The seed had dropped out and
sunk into the soil,--"among thorns" and "stony places" indeed,--and
some "by the wayside" to be devoured by birds of prey. Darker and
heavier grew the cloud of depression on the Cardinal's soul,--and
more and more passionate became the protest which had for a long
time been clamouring in him for utterance,--the protest of a
Churchman against the Church he served! It was terrible,--and to a
"prince of the Roman Church" hideous and unnatural; nevertheless the
protest existed, and it had in some unaccountable way grown to be
more a part of him than he himself realized.

"The world is empty because God is leaving it," he said, sorrowfully
raising his eyes to the tranquil heavens,--"and the joy of existence
is departing because the Divine and Holy Spirit of things is being
withdrawn!"