Christ who had borne all and understood all, and whose presence was far more worth having than the prizes they had missed or put away. It can well be believed that this wholly consecrated man, the first superior of St. Sulpice, won to himself so large a share of personal affection and loyalty from his students that when he was removed from its care many feared its collapse. But this was not to be. A suitable successor was found in M. Louis Tronson, a man every way as capable as the first founder—indeed more learned in theology—and fully disposed to continue the traditions of the institution as already laid down; a man who coveted no external recognition, joined in no race for preferment, but gave himself with singleness of eye to the great work intrusted to him by the Master. It was to his care that Francis Fénelon was committed, and he speedily won the enthusiastic affection of the young man. In a few years Fénelon writes concerning his teacher to Pope Clement XI as follows: “Never have I seen his equal for piety and prudence, for love of justice and insight into character. I glory in the thought that I was brought up under his wing.” Fénelon was evidently one of the Abbé Tronson’s favorites, for he was a favorite with everybody, and all could see in the brilliant youth a promise that would do honor to those who had a share in his development. A high degree of confidence was given and received on both sides. Francis wrote to his uncle, in a burst of gratitude, one day: “I earnestly desire to be able to tell you some part of all that passes between M. Tronson and me; but indeed, Monsieur, I know not how to do so. I find I can be much more explicit with him than with you, nor would it be easy to describe the degree of union we have reached. If you could hear our conversation you would not know your pupil, and you would see that God has very marvelously helped on the work which you begun. My health does not improve, which would be a great trial to me if I were not learning how to comfort myself.” This was very beautiful, very delightful, and though such complete dominance of one personality by another is not devoid of danger, the results in this case appear to have justified the experiment. Francis’ early bent to deep piety was greatly intensified during these years, and his views of disinterested or perfect love, so strongly brought out in later times, were scarcely more than the natural evolution of the thoughts and habits drilled into him during this formative period. He greatly enjoyed this home of piety and study. His love for the seminary never decayed. He declared on his death-bed that he knew of no institution more venerable or more apostolic.