verront termines, Quand a Dieu seul vous offrirez vos larmes, Vous qui pleurez! > > You who weep for pleasures fled, While dragging on a life of care, All your woes will melt in air, If to God your tears are shed,
D’Artagnan and the curate appeared pleased. The Jesuit persisted in his opinion. “Beware of a profane taste in your theological style. What says Augustine on this subject: ‘ Severus sit clericorum verbo .’ ”
“Yes, let the sermon be clear,” said the curate.
“Now,” hastily interrupted the Jesuit, on seeing that his acolyte was going astray, “now, your thesis would please the ladies; it would have the success of one of M. Patru’s pleadings.”
“Please God!” cried Aramis, transported.
“There it is,” cried the Jesuit; “the world still speaks within you in a loud voice, altisimmâ voce . You follow the world, my young friend, and I tremble lest grace prove not efficacious.”
“Be satisfied, my reverend father, I can answer for myself.”
“Mundane presumption!”
“I know myself, Father; my resolution is irrevocable.”
“Then you persist in continuing that thesis?”
“I feel myself called upon to treat that, and no other. I will see about the continuation of it, and tomorrow I hope you will be satisfied with the corrections I shall have made in consequence of your advice.”
“Work slowly,” said the curate; “we leave you in an excellent tone of mind.”