The Abbe Gevresin, whom he consulted, would only smile and treat him as in a novices' school or a seminary a youthful postulant is treated who confesses to deep melancholy and persistent weariness. His malady is not taken seriously; he is told that all his companions suffer the same temptations, the same qualms; he is sent away comforted, while his superiors seem to be laughing at him. But at the end of a little time this method no longer succeeded. Then the Abbe was firm with Durtal, and one day, when his penitent was bemoaning himself, he replied,-- "It is an attack you must get over," and then he added lightly after a silence, "And it will not be the last or the worst." At this Durtal turned restive; the Abbe, however, drove him to bay, wanting to make him confess how senseless his struggles were. "The idea of the cloister haunts you," said he. "Well, then, what is there to hinder you? Why do you not retire to a Trappist convent?" "You know very well that I am not strong enough to endure the rule." "Then become an oblate; go to join Monsieur Bruno at Notre Dame de l'Atre." "No, indeed, not that, at any rate. To be an oblate at La Trappe is the same thing as remaining at Chartres! It is a mere half-measure. Monsieur Bruno will always remain a boarder; he will never be a monk. He gets all the disadvantages of the cloister, and none of the benefits." "But there are other monasteries besides those of La Trappe," replied the Abbe. "Be a Benedictine Father or oblate, a black Friar. Their rule seems to be mild; you will live in a world of learned men and writers; what more would you have?" "I do not say--but--" "But what?" "I know nothing of them--" "Nothing can be easier than to get to know them. The Abbe Plomb is a welcome friend at Solesmes. He can give all the introductions you can wish to that convent." "Good; that is worth thinking about. I will consult the Abbe," said Durtal, rising to take leave of the old priest. "The Black Dog is troubling you, our friend," observed Madame Bavoil, who had overheard the two men's conversation from the next room, the door between being open; and she came in, her breviary in her hand. "Ah, ha!" she went on, looking at him over her spectacles, "do you suppose that by moving your soul from place to place you can change it? Your trouble is neither in the air nor outside you, but within you. On my word, to hear you talk, one might fancy that by travelling from one spot to another every discord could be avoided, that a man could escape from himself! Nothing can be more false. Ask the Father--" And when Durtal, smiling awkwardly, was gone, Madame Bavoil questioned her master. "What is really the matter with him?"