“The Pope is the successor of St. Peter, and represents the three divine powers; the rest—_ordines inferiores_—of the ecclesiastical hierarchy bless in the name of the holy archangels and angels. The most humble clerks such as our deacons and sacristans, bless with holy water sprinklers, which resemble an infinite number of blessing fingers. There is the subject simplified. _Argumentum omni denudatum ornamento_. I could make of that subject two volumes the size of this,” continued the Jesuit; and in his enthusiasm he struck a St. Chrysostom in folio, which made the table bend beneath its weight. D’Artagnan trembled. “_Certes_,” said Aramis, “I do justice to the beauties of this thesis; but at the same time I perceive it would be overwhelming for me. I had chosen this text—tell me, dear D’Artagnan, if it is not to your taste—‘_Non inutile est desiderium in oblatione_’; that is, ‘A little regret is not unsuitable in an offering to the Lord.’” “Stop there!” cried the Jesuit, “for that thesis touches closely upon heresy. There is a proposition almost like it in the _Augustinus_ of the heresiarch Jansenius, whose book will sooner or later be burned by the hands of the executioner. Take care, my young friend. You are inclining toward false doctrines, my young friend; you will be lost.” “You will be lost,” said the curate, shaking his head sorrowfully. “You approach that famous point of free will which is a mortal rock. You face the insinuations of the Pelagians and the semi-Pelagians.” “But, my Reverend—” replied Aramis, a little amazed by the shower of arguments that poured upon his head. “How will you prove,” continued the Jesuit, without allowing him time to speak, “that we ought to regret the world when we offer ourselves to God? Listen to this dilemma: God is God, and the world is the devil. To regret the world is to regret the devil; that is my conclusion.” “And that is mine also,” said the curate. “But, for heaven’s sake—” resumed Aramis. “_Desideras diabolum_, unhappy man!” cried the Jesuit. “He regrets the devil! Ah, my young friend,” added the curate, groaning, “do not regret the devil, I implore you!” D’Artagnan felt himself bewildered. It seemed to him as though he were in a madhouse, and was becoming as mad as those he saw. He was, however, forced to hold his tongue from not comprehending half the language they employed. “But listen to me, then,” resumed Aramis with politeness mingled with a little impatience. “I do not say I regret; no, I will never pronounce that sentence, which would not be orthodox.” The Jesuit raised his hands toward heaven, and the curate did the same. “No; but pray grant me that it is acting with an ill grace to offer to the Lord only that with which we are perfectly disgusted! Don’t you think so, D’Artagnan?” “I think so, indeed,” cried he. The Jesuit and the curate quite started from their chairs.