The twilight was extending itself. The pastor wished to visit once more the ruins of his church, and they descended the mountain. Edmond and the priest went alone among the fallen walls. All was destroyed together, the alter only still remained and the statue of the virgin was blackened, though tolerably preserved. The old man took it down and buried it at some distance. "Wherefore?" asked Edmond. "Will not the multitude," said the aged man, "cry out a miracle again, when they find this statue the only thing still nearly preserved in this heap of ashes? Who knows what horrible blood-thirstiness may be enflamed by this accident, what monstrous, insatiable vengeance attached to this wooden symbol in the name of God, in order to satisfy under pretext of eternal love, the horrible feeling, which never should be awakened in the breast of man. No, what may be an innocent amusement in times of peace and happiness, and serve as an exalting, edifying, pious institution, often becomes a banner for the human mind if once wild rebellion has swayed, it followed exultingly by all the horrors of hell. I should consider myself a murderer, if I did not bury this protectress to-day, as our neighbours will inter the poor unprotected to-morrow. Should the Eternal Decree will it otherwise, he will easily render my trouble unnecessary." As they again issued from the ruins, they were met by the tall figure of Lacoste. "Edmond," cried he, "you and your compeers carry on a damnable trade. I have kept myself concealed the whole day, that I might not look upon the enormity. The ceremony of your worship is too severe. Your God is indulgent, for otherwise he would shew himself somewhat more rigorous in it. I thought I had already experienced every thing and understood every body; but in my present high school I still learn many new things."