“No; in it. I am as good a Catholic as you, but your audacity frightened me.” Gorenflot was puzzled. “Was I audacious?” asked he. “More than that--rash.” “Alas! you must pardon me, my father. I will endeavor to correct myself.” “Yes; but meanwhile, I fear the consequences for you and for all of us. Had it passed among ourselves, it would have been nothing.” “How, is it known to others?” “Doubtless; you know well there were more than a hundred laymen listening to your discourse.” “My discourse!” said Gorenflot, more and more astonished. “I allow it was fine, and that the universal applause must have carried you on, but to propose to make a procession through the streets of Paris, with a helmet on your head and a partisan on your shoulder, appealing to all good Catholics, was rather too strong, you will allow.” Gorenflot looked bewildered. “Now,” continued the prior, “this religious fervor, which burns so strongly in your heart, will injure you in Paris. I wish you therefore to go and expend it in the provinces.” “An exile!” cried Gorenflot. “If you remain here, much worse may happen to you, my dear brother.” “What?” “Perpetual imprisonment, or even death.” Gorenflot grew frightfully pale; he could not understand how he had incurred all this by getting tipsy in an inn, and passing the night out of the convent. “By submitting to this temporary exile, my dear brother, not only will you escape this danger, but you will plant the banner of our faith in the provinces, where such words are less dangerous than here, under the eyes of the king. Set off at once, then, brother; perhaps the archers are already out to arrest you.” “The archers, I!” said Gorenflot. “I advise you to go at once.” “It is easy to say ‘go,’ but how am I to live?” “Oh! nothing more easy. You will find plenty of partisans who will let you want for nothing. But go, in Heaven’s name, and do not come back till you are sent for.” And the prior, after embracing him, pushed him to the door. There he found all the community waiting for him, to touch his hands or his robe. “Adieu!” said one, embracing him, “you are a holy man; do not forget me in your prayers.” “I, a holy man!” thought Gorenflot. “Adieu, brave champion of the faith,” said another. “Adieu, martyr,” said a third, “the light will soon come.” Thus was he conducted to the outside of the convent, and as he went away he exclaimed, “Devil take me, but either they are all mad, or I am.” CHAPTER XXVII. HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT REMAINED CONVINCED THAT HE WAS A SOMNAMBULIST, AND BITTERLY DEPLORED THIS INFIRMITY.