“Monsieur is not going to be gratified by a tale of ambitious proportions, and the spectacle of the narrator sticking fast in the midst. But I will tell him the title⁠—the ‘Priest’s Pupil.’ ”

“Bah!” said he, the swarthy flush again dyeing his dark cheek. “The good old father could not have chosen a worse subject; it is his weak point. But what of the ‘Priest’s Pupil?’ ”

“Oh! many things.”

“You may as well define what things. I mean to know.”

“There was the pupil’s youth, the pupil’s manhood⁠—his avarice, his ingratitude, his implacability, his inconstancy. Such a bad pupil, Monsieur!⁠—so thankless, cold-hearted, unchivalrous, unforgiving!”

“ Et puis? ” 226 said he, taking a cigar.

“ Et puis ,” I pursued, “he underwent calamities which one did not pity⁠—bore them in a spirit one did not admire⁠—endured wrongs for which one felt no sympathy; finally took the unchristian revenge of heaping coals of fire on his adversary’s head.”

“You have not told me all,” said he.

“Nearly all, I think: I have indicated the heads of Père Silas’s chapters.”

“You have forgotten one⁠—that which touched on the pupil’s lack of affection⁠—on his hard, cold, monkish heart.”