"It is," replied the Abbé; "but circumstances give the value of every fact. It is a terrible thing to slay any human being; to take the life of a creature, full of the same high intelligences as ourselves: but if I slay that man in a room, and for no purpose, it is called murder; if I slay him in a battle-field, in order to obtain a crown, it is a glorious act, and worthy of immortal renown." The Marquis listened to his sophistry, eager to take any theme of consolation to his heart. But any one who heard him, would have supposed that the Abbé de Boisguerin thought his companion too easily consoled. Perhaps it might be that the Abbé himself sought to defend his share in the transaction, rather than to give any comfort to his unhappy cousin. At all events, after a brief pause, during which both fell into thought, he added, "What I grieve the most for is, that Charles was kind-hearted and generous, frank and true, and I believe sincerely that, but for this unhappy business, he loved us both." "Ay, there is the horror! there is the horror!" exclaimed the Marquis, casting himself down into a chair, and covering his eyes with his hands. "He did love me, I know he did; and I believe he sought to act generously by me." The Abbé suffered him to indulge in his grief for a moment or two, and then replied, "But the misfortune is, that, with all this, your object is not yet secured; that though you have once more snatched her from the power of the Guises, you have not contrived to keep her in your own." The Marquis waved his hand impatiently, saying, "I cannot--I will not talk of such things now. Leave me, Abbé, leave me! I can but grieve; there is no way that I can turn without encountering sorrow." The Abbé turned and left him; and descending the steps into the gardens, he walked on in the calm sunshine, as tranquilly as if purity and holiness had dwelt within his breast. "I must bear this yet a while longer," he said to himself. "But now, if I could find some enthusiastic priest, full of wild eloquence, such as we have in Italy, to seize this deep moment of remorse, we might do much with him to make him abjure this pursuit; perhaps abjure the world! The foolish boy thinks that it was his hand that did it, and does not know that I fired at all, when his hand shook so that he could not well have struck him. Perhaps there may be such a priest as I need up there," he continued, looking towards Augoulême, "perhaps there may be such a priest up there, of the kind I want. Epernon has his fits of devotion too, I believe. At all events, I will go up and see. The madder the better for my purpose." Thus saying he called some servants, ordered his horse, and, as soon as it was brought, rode away towards Augoulême. CHAP. V.