‘What are you going to do, then, Simon?’ I asked, noting these changes curiously. ‘I am a soldier,’ he answered, ‘and follow M. de Marsac.’ I laughed. ‘You have chosen a poor service, I am afraid,’ I said, beginning to rise; ‘and one, too, Simon, in which it is possible you may be killed. I thought that would not suit you,’ I continued, to see what he would say. But he answered nothing, and I looked at him in great surprise. ‘You have made up your mind, then, at last?’ I said. ‘Perfectly,’ he answered. ‘And solved all your doubts?’ ‘I have no doubts.’ ‘You are a Huguenot?’ ‘That is the only true and pure religion,’ he replied gravely. And with apparent sincerity and devotion he repeated Beza’s Confession of Faith. This filled me with profound astonishment, but I said no more at the time, though I had my doubts. I waited until I was alone with M. de Rosny, and then I unbosomed myself on the matter; expressing my surprise at the suddenness of the conversion, and at such a man, as I had found the student to be, stating his views so firmly and steadfastly, and with so little excitement. Observing that M. de Rosny smiled but answered nothing, I explained myself farther. ‘I am surprised,’ I said, ‘because I have always heard it maintained that clerkly men, becoming lost in the mazes of theology, seldom find any sure footing; that not one in a hundred returns to his old faith, or finds grace to accept a new one. I am speaking only of such, of course, as I believe this lad to be--eager, excitable brains, learning much, and without judgment to digest what they learn.’ ‘Of such I also believe it to be true,’ M. de Rosny answered, still smiling. ‘But even on them a little influence, applied at the right moment, has much effect, M. de Marsac.’ ‘I allow that,’ I said. ‘But my mother, of whom I have spoken to you, saw much of this youth. His fidelity to her was beyond praise. Yet her faith, though grounded on a rock, had no weight with him.’ M. de Rosny shook his head, still smiling. ‘It is not our mothers who convert us,’ he said. ‘What!’ I cried, my eyes opened. ‘Do you mean--do you mean that Mademoiselle has done this?’ ‘I fancy so,’ he answered, nodding. ‘I think my lady cast her spell over him by the way. The lad left Blois with her, if what you say be true, without faith in the world. He came to my hands two days later the stoutest of Huguenots. It is not hard to read this riddle.’ ‘Such, conversions are seldom lasting,’ I said. He looked at me queerly; and, the smile still hovering about his lips, answered ‘Tush, man! Why so serious? Theodore Beza himself could not look dryer. The lad is in earnest, and there is no harm done.’