Eusebe ascended quickly to his father’s chamber. “Do I behold you at last, my son?” said M. Martin, gasping. “Have you attained your object? Tell me, if you can, before I die, where is the false; where is the true?” “_Father_,” replied Eusebe, “_the false is on earth; the true is in heaven!_” “You are perhaps right,” said the dying man; “and if the Abbé Jaucourt were not dead, and there were yet time, I would invite him to my bedside.” “Father,” rejoined the young man, “the preachers of the word of God never die. They have no need to marry to reproduce themselves. Religion is a prolific mother. For one of her children who dies, ten are born.” “You may be right, my son,” murmured Martin, in a tone that was scarcely audible; “but I do not wish to see the Abbé Faye: he has such red hair!” And so he breathed his last sigh. “Father! father!” cried Eusebe, not yet aware that his parent was dead, “believe me, _there is nothing true but the greatness of God_!” “And,” cried the Abbé Faye, who at that moment thrust his red head in at the door, “HUMAN FOLLIES!” STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON & CO. PHILADELPHIA. Transcriber’s Notes Quotation marks missed by the printer have been restored. Period spellings were retained. “hand” changed to “hard” on page 166. (It is hard to die) “renowed” changed to “renowned” on page 172. (a renowned maître d’armes) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Human Follies, by Jules Noriac