‘Of their purple and fine linen and sumptuous faring every day, that Lazarus may be clothed and fed!’ interrupted Lindet, passionately. ‘You would abolish the episcopacy and convert the Church to presbyterianism,’ said the curé of La Couture with a slight tone of sarcasm. ‘Never,’ answered the priest of S. Cross; his voice instantly becoming calm, and acquiring a depth and musical tone like that in which he was wont to chant. ‘No, Lebertre, never. I would preserve the ancient constitution of the Church, but I would divest it of all its State-given position and pomp. I would have our bishops to be our pastors and overseers, and not our lords and tyrants. I reverence authority, but I abhor autocracy. David went forth in the might of God to fight the Philistine; Saul lent him his gilded armour, but the shepherd put it off him--he could not go in that cumbrous painted harness. With his shepherd’s staff and sling he slew the giant. Woe be it! the Church has donned the golden armour wherewith royalty has invested her, and crushed beneath the weight, it lies prostrate at the feet of the enemy.’ Lindet walked on fast, weaving his fingers together and then shaking them apart. ‘But let me continue what I had to tell you of the bishop’s visit here,’ he said. ‘I was walking down the Rue des Jardins an hour after my reception, with my head sunk on my bosom, and--I am not ashamed to add--with my tears flowing. I wept, for I was humbled myself, and ashamed for the Church. Then suddenly I felt a sting across my shoulders, as I heard a shout. I started from my reverie to find myself almost under the feet of the horses of a magnificent carriage with postilions and outriders in livery, that dashed past in a cloud of dust. I stood aside and saw my bishop roll by in conversation with M. Berthier, laughing like a fool. My shoulders tingled for an hour with the lash of the post-boy’s whip, but the wound cut that day into my heart is quivering and bleeding still.’ As he spoke, he and his friend came suddenly upon a wayside crucifix which had been erected at the confines of the parish as a station for pilgrims, in a patch of clearing. The pines rose as a purple wall behind it, but the setting sun bathed the figure of the Saviour in light, and turned to scarlet the mat of crimson pinks which had rooted themselves in the pedestal.