And stamping his feet on the asphalt, Maurice called as witnesses to the truth of his words the sky, the earth, all nature, the towers of St. Sulpice, the walls of the great seminary, the Fountain of the _Quatre Évêques_, the public lavatory, the cabmen's shelter, the taxis and motor 'buses' shelter, the trees, the passers-by, the dogs, the sparrows, the flower-seller and her flowers. The Abbé made haste to end the interview. "All this is error, falsehood, and illusion, my child," said he. "You are a Christian: think as a Christian,--a Christian does not allow himself to be seduced by empty shadows. Faith protects him against the seduction of the marvellous, he leaves credulity to freethinkers. There are credulous people for you--freethinkers! There is no humbug they will not swallow. But the Christian carries a weapon which dissipates diabolical illusions,--the sign of the Cross. Reassure yourself, Maurice,--you have not lost your guardian angel. He still watches over you. It lies with you not to make this task too difficult nor too painful for him. Good-bye, Maurice. The weather is going to change, for I feel a burning in my big toe." And Abbé Patouille went off with his breviary under his arm, hobbling along with a dignity that seemed to foretell a mitre. That very day, Arcade and Zita were leaning over the parapet of La Butte, gazing down on the mist and smoke that lay floating over the vast city. "Is it possible," said Arcade, "for the mind to conceive all the pain and suffering that lie pent within a great city? It is my belief that if a man succeeded in realising it, the weight of it would crush him to the earth." "And yet," answered Zita, "every living being in that place of torment is enamoured of life. It is a great enigma! "Unhappy, ill-fated, while they live, the idea of ceasing to be is, nevertheless, a horror to them. They look not for solace in annihilation, it does not even bring them the promise of rest. In their madness they even look upon nothingness with terror: they have peopled it with phantoms. Look you at these pediments, these towers and domes and spires that pierce the mist and rear on high their glittering crosses. Men bow in adoration before the demiurge who has given them a life that is worse than death, and a death that is worse than life." Zita was for a long time lost in thought. At length she broke silence, saying: