“Your priesthood have turned your head,” exclaimed the mathematician, impatiently. “Monsieur Phellion,” said Celeste, interrupting him hastily, “enough of this!” It was at this point of the quarrel that Theodose considered it judicious to enter the room. He found Celeste pale, and the young professor as anxious as a lover should be who has just irritated his mistress. “I heard the word ‘enough’; then something is too much?” he said, inquiringly, looking in turn from Celeste to Felix. “We were talking religion,” replied Felix, “and I was saying to mademoiselle how dangerous ecclesiastical influence is in the bosom of families.” “That was not the point, monsieur,” said Celeste, sharply; “it was to know if husband and wife could be of one heart when the one is an atheist and the other Catholic.” “Can there be such a thing as atheists?” cried Theodose, with all the signs of extreme wonderment. “Could a true Catholic marry a Protestant? There is no safety possible for a married pair unless they have perfect conformity in the matter of religious opinions. I, who come from the Comtat, of a family which counts a pope among its ancestors--for our arms are: gules, a key argent, with supporters, a monk holding a church, and a pilgrim with a staff, or, and the motto, ‘I open, I shut’--I am, of course, intensely dogmatic on such points. But in these days, thanks to our modern system of education, it does not seem to me strange that religion should be called into question. I myself would never marry a Protestant, had she millions, even if I loved her distractedly. Faith is a thing that cannot be tampered with. ‘Una fides, unus Dominus,’ that is my device in life.” “You hear that!” cried Celeste, triumphantly, looking at Felix Phellion.