The glitter of his little eyes doubled and was followed by an involuntary movement of the muscles of the corner of the mouth. It was the physiognomy of the tiger savouring in advance the pleasure of devouring its prey. "Chélan's letter is short," he said, as though speaking to himself. "_Intelligenti pauca_. In the present time it is impossible to write too little." He read aloud:-- "I recommend to you Julien Sorel of this parish, whom I baptized nearly twenty years ago, the son of a rich carpenter who gives him nothing. Julien will be a remarkable worker in the vineyard of the Lord. He lacks neither memory nor intelligence; he has some faculty for reflection. Will he persevere in his calling? Is he sincere?" "Sincere," repeated the abbé Pirard with an astonished air, looking at Julien. But the abbé's look was already less devoid of all humanity. "Sincere," he repeated, lowering his voice, and resuming his reading:-- "I ask you for a stipend for Julien Sorel. He will earn it by passing the necessary examinations. I have taught him a little theology, that old and good theology of the Bossuets, the Arnaults, and the Fleury's. If the person does not suit you, send him back to me. The director of the workhouse, whom you know well, offers him eight hundred to be tutor to his children. My inner self is tranquil, thanks to God. I am accustoming myself to the terrible blow, 'Vale et me ama.'" The abbé Pirard, speaking more slowly as he read the signature, pronounced with a sigh the word, "Chélan." "He is tranquil," he said, "in fact his righteousness deserves such a recompense. May God grant it to me in such a case." He looked up to heaven and made the sign of the cross. At the sight of that sacred sign Julien felt an alleviation of the profound horror which had frozen him since his entry into the house. "I have here three hundred and twenty-one aspirants for the most holy state," said the abbé Pirard at last, in a tone, which though severe, was not malicious; "only seven or eight have been recommended to me by such men as the abbé Chélan; so you will be the ninth of these among the three hundred and twenty-one. But my protection means neither favour nor weakness, it means doubled care, and doubled severity against vice. Go and lock that door." Julian made an effort to walk, and managed not to fall. He noticed that a little window near the entrance door looked out on to the country. He saw the trees; that sight did him as much good as the sight of old friends. "'Loquerisne linquam latinam?'" (Do you speak Latin?) said the abbé Pirard to him as he came back. "'Ita, pater optime,'" (Yes, excellent Father) answered Julien, recovering himself a little. But it was certain that nobody in the world had ever appeared to him less excellent than had M. Pirard for the last half hour.