Eusebe, oppressed with grief, returned home a prey to a violent fever. Notwithstanding his efforts to conceal his suffering, he was forced to take to his bed, where he remained for a month, almost without consciousness. When he recovered his senses, he found Paul Buck and Gredinette at his bedside. Eusebe asked for his wife: they told him that she had gone to attend a dying sister. Some days afterwards, Eusebe, being convalescent, walked in the garden, leaning on the arm of Gredinette.

“Eusebe,” said the young woman, stopping suddenly, “since you must learn the truth sooner or later, I prefer relieving my mind by telling you at once. Prepare yourself to hear of a great misfortune.”

“Speak!” said Eusebe: “I could not be more unhappy than I am.”

After much hesitation and circumlocution, Gredinette informed Eusebe that his wife had eloped with Isidore Boncain, and that the guilty couple had carried away with them the money of the firm.

Eusebe made no response, nor did his countenance betray any inward emotion.

“He takes it better than I thought he would,” said Gredinette, in the evening, to Paul.

By degrees, Eusebe was restored to health. One morning he said to his two friends,—

“I am about to bid you farewell. I am going to return to La Capelette, which I should never have quitted. I shall say good-bye to my father-in-law, and set out this very evening. Thanks for all your kind friendship: I shall never forget it. If, some day, weary of life, you should desire to taste the sweets of repose, come to my home, and I will love you as you have loved me.”

“Do not go to see Bonnaud,” said Paul: “the distracted father accuses you of being the cause of his daughter’s fault.”

“Accuses me!”

“Yes. He pretends that this elopement is one of the results of your liaison with AdÉonne. Nor would I advise you to trouble yourself any more about Madame de la Varade. She is absorbed in the preaching of a missionary who is creating a sensation at Versailles.”

“A missionary? What is that?”

“Missionaries, my friend,” replied Paul, seriously, “are men, or rather children of God, who traverse the seas, and encounter a thousand perils, to bear to benighted savages the word of God and civilization. The priest of whom I speak has been crucified, and has been six times in danger of being eaten.”

“I will go to see him,” said Eusebe; and he departed.

Father Vernier belonged to the Congregation of Lazaristes of Turin. He was an old man, with a snowy beard and a bronzed complexion. His black eyes were full of courage and good nature. He received Eusebe kindly.

“What do you desire, my son?” he inquired.

“Father,” replied the young man, “I am weary of struggling with the contradictions and troubles of life. The more I seek truth, the more deeply do I become involved in doubt. To-day I come to you, like the wounded bird flying for rest to the branch of an aged oak. In the name of Heaven, tell me where to find the true, and where the false is hidden.”

“Monsieur,” said the priest, dryly, “I have devoted my life to the service of the Lord. I have traversed the wilderness to teach His word to the heathen. I owe my support to the humble and the suffering, to whom I am devoted. I have neither time nor inclination to enter into philosophic speculations.”

The same evening, Eusebe departed for the home of his childhood. Not finding at Limoges any vehicle to convey him to La Capelette, he determined to perform the rest of the journey on foot. He had proceeded scarcely half the distance, when a violent storm arose and forced him to seek shelter in a wayside inn. While the landlady was preparing his supper, he picked up, mechanically, a greasy volume which was lying on the table, and read. After he had eaten, he retired to his chamber, where he passed the night in reading the same book. At dawn he arose and tendered a golden louis to the landlord for the privilege of carrying away the volume in which he was so deeply interested. When once more on the road, Eusebe said,—

“Why have I gone so far and exposed myself to so much sorrow in the search of truth, when it was at my very door?”

The volume contained the various books of the New Testament.

“I was wrong to let the gentleman carry away the book,” said the innkeeper to his wife.

“Bah! it cost only twelve sous,” she replied.

“And suppose it did: would he have given us twenty francs for it, if it had not been worth more?”

On reaching the great gate of his father’s house, Eusebe knocked.

“Ah! The good Lord be praised, Monsieur Eusebe,” exclaimed Katy, who soon appeared, “here you are at last. Hurry up to your father’s chamber: he so wishes to see you before he dies.”

Eusebe ascended quickly to his father’s chamber.

“Do I behold you at last, my son?” said M. Martin, gasping. “Have you attained your object? Tell me, if you can, before I die, where is the false; where is the true?”

“Father,” replied Eusebe, “the false is on earth; the true is in heaven!”

“You are perhaps right,” said the dying man; “and if the AbbÉ Jaucourt were not dead, and there were yet time, I would invite him to my bedside.”

“Father,” rejoined the young man, “the preachers of the word of God never die. They have no need to marry to reproduce themselves. Religion is a prolific mother. For one of her children who dies, ten are born.”

“You may be right, my son,” murmured Martin, in a tone that was scarcely audible; “but I do not wish to see the AbbÉ Faye: he has such red hair!” And so he breathed his last sigh.

“Father! father!” cried Eusebe, not yet aware that his parent was dead, “believe me, there is nothing true but the greatness of God!”

“And,” cried the AbbÉ Faye, who at that moment thrust his red head in at the door,

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