All this I seemed to read in his clever, cynical countenance, in direct opposition to the thrilling sentences of the Abbe Petit as he leant forward and said, with uplifted finger and prophetic intensity: "_La lumiere est venue, mes freres--et si vous ne la suivez pas--vous serez laisses seuls dans vos eglises._" It is impossible to exaggerate the affectionate solemnity of this appeal to his brother priests. The tragic note was relieved later by an amused smile which rippled round the audience. This puzzled me until a kind French lady sitting next to me explained that the audience were amused by the "_tres chers freres_" (dearly beloved brethren), with which the Abbe addressed them in this rather unorthodox lecture. It was evidently looked upon as a curious bit of "professional survival." On the following day (Thursday) I was invited to lunch with Lady Caithness at two P.M., and being a punctual person, I arrived at that hour. The powdered footman announced that his mistress had not yet emerged from her bedroom, and showed me up into the dining-room adjoining, where I awaited her. In a few minutes I was joined here by the Abbe, who politely expressed his sorrow that he had not known of my arrival earlier. As we sat chatting together, he told me a curious experience of his of the previous night, which will certainly "cause the enemy" to smile, if not "to blaspheme." He said (of course, in French): "I was sitting last night in my room, which looks over the back of the house, and where I can hear no sounds from the Avenue, and I was talking to 'La Reine.' Suddenly '_Elle m'a frappe sur l'epaule_,' and then said she must leave me at once, in order to meet the Duchesse, who had just returned home. At that moment twelve o'clock struck from a neighbouring church, and I looked at my watch, and found it was indeed midnight. When Madame la Duchesse comes in, I am most anxious to find out whether she and the Duc were returning home at that hour. You will be my witness, madame, that I have told you of this occurrence before seeing the Duchesse." I assured him that I would gladly testify to this; and in a few moments the Duc de Pomar arrived, and almost immediately after him, Lady Caithness emerged from her bedroom on the other side of the dining-room. We sat down to luncheon, and I was much amused by the form of the Abbe's question later in the meal. "_Madame la Duchesse! puis je vous demander sans indiscretion, a quelle heure vous etes revenue hier au soir?_" Lady Caithness looked a little surprised, but answered readily enough: "Well, it must have been past midnight; I did not notice very specially." "Not past midnight, mother," corrected the Duc de Pomar; "I heard a clock strike twelve just as we were driving through the Porte Cochere." "_Bien, Madame, qu'est-ce-que je vous ai dit?_" demanded the Abbe, turning to me in triumph. He then repeated his story, and I was able to certify that he had already mentioned it to me on my arrival.