"He is said to be the son of a carpenter in our mountains. I rather believe he is the natural son of some rich man. I have seen him receive an anonymous or pseudonymous letter with a bill for five hundred francs." "Oh, it is Julien Sorel," said the Marquis. "How do you know his name?" said the abbé, in astonishment, reddening at his question. "That's what I'm not going to tell you," answered the Marquis. "Well," replied the abbé, "you might try making him your secretary. He has energy. He has a logical mind. In a word, it's worth trying." "Why not?" said the Marquis. "But would he be the kind of man to allow his palm to be greased by the Prefect of Police or any one else and then spy on me? That is only my objection." After hearing the favourable assurances of the abbé Pirard, the Marquis took a thousand franc note. "Send this journey money to Julien Sorel. Let him come to me." "One sees at once," said the abbé Pirard, "that you live in Paris. You do not know the tyranny which weighs us poor provincials down, and particularly those priests who are not friendly to the Jesuits. They will refuse to let Julien Sorel leave. They will manage to cloak themselves in the most clever excuses. They will answer me that he is ill, that his letters were lost in the post, etc., etc." "I will get a letter from the minister to the Bishop, one of these days," answered the Marquis. "I was forgetting to warn you of one thing," said the abbé. "This young man, though of low birth, has a high spirit. He will be of no use if you madden his pride. You will make him stupid." "That pleases me," said the Marquis. "I will make him my son's comrade. Will that be enough for you?" Some time afterwards, Julien received a letter in an unknown writing, and bearing the Chélon postmark. He found in it a draft on a Besançon merchant, and instructions to present himself at Paris without delay. The letter was signed in a fictitious name, but Julien had felt a thrill in opening it. A leaf of a tree had fallen down at his feet. It was the agreed signal between himself and the abbé Pirard. Within an hour's time, Julien was summoned to the Bishop's Palace, where he found himself welcomed with a quite paternal benevolence. My lord quoted Horace and at the same time complimented him very adroitly on the exalted destiny which awaited him in Paris in such a way as to elicit an explanation by way of thanks. Julien was unable to say anything, simply because he did not know anything, and my Lord showed him much consideration. One of the little priests in the bishopric wrote to the mayor, who hastened to bring in person a signed passport, where the name of the traveller had been left in blank. Before midnight of the same evening, Julien was at Fouqué's. His friend's shrewd mind was more astonished than pleased with the future which seemed to await his friend.