enough; besides a goddess mother, you fill your Pantheon and the niches left empty by the old deities, with all kinds of godlings, male and female; but as far as I can see these newcomers are no better than the old: they appear like snails from no one knows where, deformed, maimed, eaten up with dirt and vermin.--They make a display of their sores and ulcers; one carries a trencher on his head, another sticks his head itself under his arm, like a hat. Then there is his saintship who goes about with his skin in his hand, and worst of all here in this Church is your own particular St. Simon Stylites, who stood for forty years on top of a pillar on one leg, for all the world like a crane.” “Hold up there!” cried Chamaille, jumping from his seat. “Say what you please about the other saints, they are no affair of mine, but here in St. Simon’s own house, the least we can do is to be civil to him.” “Well, as I am your guest, I will leave your old crane in peace on his pedestal, but how about the Abbot of Cortigny who has the Blessed Virgin’s milk in a bottle, and Count Sermizelles who took powdered relics and washed them down with holy water when he happened to need medicine?” “You might do the same thing under the same circumstances,” said Chamaille, “for all that you laugh at it now,--but as for the Abbot of Cortigny, or any other monk, they would sell angel’s milk or archangel’s cream, if they thought they could get our customers away from us: we are like cat and dog; their very name is an abomination to me!” “Come, now, do you believe in these relics, or do you not?” “I believe in my own, not in theirs, of course,--I have here the shoulder-blade of St. Diétrine, a sovereign cure for the scurvy, and the skull of St. Etoupe, which drives devils out of the sheep.--Now what are you jeering at? I tell you I have documents here, signed parchments, to prove the truth of what I say; if you do not believe me, I will go and fetch them.” “Sit down, old man, I don’t want to see your documents; now, Chamaille, honor bright, you have no more faith in these things than I have, I can see it in your eye. A bone is a bone, no matter where it comes from, and you are an idolater if you adore it. Everything has its place in this world, and corpses should stay in the graveyard; so for my part I believe in life, in the light of day. I know that I live and think--very clearly too,--I know also that two and two make four, and that the earth is a fixed star hung in infinite space.--I believe in our local customs, and could recite the whole list of them to you. Then there are books where man’s knowledge and experience are distilled drop by drop! I believe firmly in them. Above all I trust my own understanding, and like any wise and prudent man, I have faith in Holy Writ. Now are you satisfied?”