“They are Christian ideas,” said M. Bergeret. “M. Lantaigne won’t deny that.” But as the priest was still silent, M. Bergeret continued: “I advise you to read, in a book of whose teaching M. Lantaigne approves, in the famous _Essai sur l’indifférence_, a certain theory of expiation. I remember one sentence in it which I can quote almost verbatim: “We are ruled,” said Lamennais, “by one law of destiny, an inexorable law whose tyranny we can never avoid: this law is expiation, the unbending axis of the moral world on which turns the whole destiny of humanity.” “That may be so,” said M. de Terremondre. “But is it possible that God can have actually willed to aim a blow at honourable and charitable women like my cousin Courtrai and my nieces Laneux and Felissay, who were terribly burnt in this fire? God is neither cruel nor unjust.” M. Lantaigne gripped his breviary under his left arm and made a movement as if to go away. Then, changing his mind, he turned towards M. de Terremondre and lifting his right hand said solemnly: “God was neither cruel nor unjust towards these women when, in His mercy, He made them sacrificial offerings and types of the Victim without stain or spot. But since even Christians have lost, not only the sentiment of sacrifice, but also the practice of contrition, since they have become utterly ignorant of the most holy mysteries of religion, before we utterly despair of their salvation, we must expect warnings still more terrible, admonitions still more urgent, portents of still greater significance. Good-bye, Monsieur de Terremondre. I leave you with M. Bergeret, who, having no religion at all, at any rate avoids the misery and shame of an easy-going faith, and who will play at the game of refuting your arguments with the feeble resources of the intellect unsupported by the instincts of the heart.” When he had finished his speech, he walked away with a firm, stiff gait. “What is the matter with him?” said M. de Terremondre, as he looked after him. “I believe he has a grudge against me. He is very difficult to get on with, although he is a man worthy of all respect. The incessant disputes he engages in have soured his temper and he is at loggerheads with his Archbishop, with the professors at the college, and with half the clergy in the diocese. It is more than doubtful if he will get the bishopric, and I really begin to think that, for the Church’s sake, as well as for his own, it is better to leave him where he is. His intolerance would make him a dangerous bishop. What a strange notion to approve of Père Ollivier’s sermon!” “I also approve of his sermon,” said M. Bergeret. “It’s quite a different matter in your case,” said M. de Terremondre. “You are merely amusing yourself. You are not a religious man.” “I am not religious,” said M. Bergeret, “but I am a theologian.”