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"
"But how can that be done no more,
Which ne'er was done before?"
I retorted, railing at him, for I feared to take him seriously.
"There you wrong me," he said. "I am devout; I am a lover of the
Scriptures--their beauty haunts me; I go to mass--its dignity
affects me; and I have prayed, as in my youth I wrote verses. It
is not a matter of morality, but of temperament. A man may be
religious and yet be evil. Satan fell, but he believed and he
admired, as the English Milton wisely shows it."
I was most glad that my father came between us at that moment;
but before Monsieur left, he said to me, "You have challenged
me. Beware: I have begun this chase. Yet I would rather be your
follower, rather have your arrow in me, than be your hunter." He
said it with a sort of warmth, which I knew was a glow in his
senses merely; he was heated with his own eloquence.
"Wait," returned I. "You have heard the story of King Artus?"
He thought a moment. "No, no. I never was a child as other
children. I was always comrade to the imps."
"King Artus," said I, "was most fond of hunting.


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