“That’s about the worst of it,” replied Jean. “It is one vast plot to make the people believe lies. I shouldn’t so much mind their robbing the country of its money to keep themselves comfortable, but what is the meaning of their _Te Deums_? I tell you again,”—and he repeated the words with much emphasis—“it is a vast plot to make men believe a lie. I abhor them for that ten times more than for taking my money to replace Louis.” “Oh,” resumed Pauline, “_if_ I were only up in the sky for an hour, I would have thundered and lightened on them just as they got to the top of Ludgate Hill, and scattered a score or so of them. I wonder if they would have thanked Providence for their escape? O father, such a joke! The Major told me the other day of an old gentleman he knew who was riding along in his carriage. A fireball fell and killed the coachman. The old gentleman, talking about it afterwards, said that “_providentially_ it struck the box-seat.” Zachariah, although a firm believer in his faith, and not a coward, was tempted to be silent. He was heavy and slow in action, and this kind of company was strange to him. Furthermore, Pauline was not an open enemy, and notwithstanding her little blasphemies, she was attractive. But then he remembered with shame that he was ordered to testify to the truth wherever he might be, and unable to find anything of his own by which he could express himself, a text of the Bible came into his mind, and, half to himself, he repeated it aloud: “I form the light and create darkness: I make peace and create evil; I the Lord do all these things.” “What is that?” said Jean. “Repeat it.” Zachariah slowly repeated it. He had intended to add to it something which might satisfy his conscience and rebuke Pauline, but he could not. “Whence is that?” said Jean. “From the Bible; give me one and I will show it to you.” There was no English Bible in the house. It was a book not much used; but Pauline presently produced a French version, and Jean read the passage—“_Qui forme la lumière_, _et qui crée les ténèbres_; _qui fait la paix_, _et qui crée l’adversité_; _c’est moi_, _l’Eternel_, _qui fais toutes les choses là_.” Pauline bent over her father and read it again. “_Qui crée l’adversité_,” she said. “Do you believe that?” “If it is there I do,” said Zachariah. “Well, I don’t.” “What’s adversity to hell fire? If He made hell-fire, why not adversity? Besides, if He did not, who did?” “Don’t know a bit, and don’t mean to bother myself about it.” “Right!” broke in Jean—“right, my child; bother—that is a good word. Don’t bother yourself about anything when—bothering will not benefit. There is so much in the world which will—bear a botheration out of which some profit will arise. Now, then, clear the room, and let Zachariah see your art.”