I set myself to inquire whither have fled the two hundred souls, so closely bound together by the ascendency of one man, I count more than one case of waste and eccentricity; as might be expected, I can count archbishops, bishops, and other dignitaries of the Church, all to a certain extent enlightened and moderate in their views.  I come upon diplomatists, councillors of state, and others, whose honourable careers would in some instances have been more brilliant if Marshal MacMahon’s dismissal of his ministry on the 16th of May, 1877, had been a success.  But, strange to say, I see among those who sat beside a future prelate a young man destined to sharpen his knife so well that he will drive it home to his archbishop’s heart....  I think I can remember Verger, and I may say of him as Sachetti said of the beatified Florentine:  Fu mia vicina, andava come le altre. The education given us had its dangers; it had a tendency to produce over excitement, and to turn the balance of the mind, as it did in Verger’s case.

A still more striking instance of the saying that “the spirit bloweth where it listeth,” was that of H. de ——.  When I first entered at Saint-Nicholas he was the object of my special admiration.  He was a youth of exceptional talent, and he was a long way ahead of all his comrades in rhetoric.  His staid and elevated piety sprung from a nature endowed with the loftiest aspirations.  He quite came up to our idea of perfection, and according to the custom of ecclesiastical colleges, in which the senior pupils share the duties of the masters, the most important of these functions were confided to him.  His piety was equally great for several years at the seminary of St. Sulpice.  He would remain for hours in the chapel, especially on holy days, bathed in tears.  I well remember one summer evening at Gentilly—­which was the country-house of the Petty Seminary of Saint-Nicholas—­how we clustered round some of the senior students and one of the masters noted for his Christian piety, listening intently to what they told us.  The conversation had taken a very serious turn, the question under discussion being the ever-enduring problem upon which all Christianity rests—­the question of divine election—­the doubt in which each individual soul must stand until the last hour, whether he will be saved.  The good priest dwelt specially upon this, telling us that no one can be sure, however great may be the favours which Heaven has showered upon him, that he will not fall away at the last.  “I think,” he said, “that I have known one case of predestination.”  There was a hush, and after a pause he added, “I mean H. de ——­; if any one is sure of being saved it is he.  And yet who can tell that H. de ——­ is not a reprobate?” I saw H. de ——­ again many years afterwards.  He had in the interval studied the Bible very deeply.  I could not tell whether he was entirely estranged from Christianity, but he no longer wore the priestly garb, and was very bitter against clericalism.