Conrad and Saint Felix of Nola; the dog accompanies Saint Godfrey, Saint Bernard, Saint Roch, Saint Margaret of Cortona, and Saint Dominic, when it bears a burning torch in its mouth; the doe is the badge of Saint Giles, Saint Leu, Saint Genevieve of Brabant, and Saint Maximus; the pig of Saint Anthony; the dolphin of Saint Adrian, of Saint Lucian, and Saint Basil; the swan of Saint Cuthbert and Saint Hugh; the rat is seen with Saint Goutran and Saint Gertrude; the ox with Saint Cornelius, Saint Eustachius, Saint Honorius, Saint Thomas Aquinas, Saint Lucy, Saint Blandina, Saint Bridget, Saint Sylvester, Saint Sebaldus, Saint Saturninus; the dove belongs to Saint Gregory the Great, Saint Remi, Saint Ambrose, Saint Hilary, Saint Ursula, Saint Aldegonde, and Saint Scholastica, whose soul flew up to Heaven under that form.

“And the list might be indefinitely extended.  Shall you mention in your article these accompaniments to the saints?”

“In point of fact,” replied Durtal, “most of these attributes are based on history or legend, and not on symbolism; so I shall not devote any particular attention to them.”

There was a silence.

Then, abruptly, the Abbe Plomb, looking at his brother priest, said to Durtal,—­

“I am going to Solesmes again a week hence, and I told the Reverend Father Abbot that I should take you with me.”

Then, seeing Durtal’s amazement, he smiled.  “But I will not leave you there,” he went on, “unless you wish not to return to Chartres.  I only propose that you should pay a visit there, just long enough to breathe the atmosphere of the convent, to make acquaintance with the Benedictine Fathers, and try their life.”

Durtal was silent, somewhat scared; for this proposal, simple enough as it was, that he should go to live for some days in a cloister, had startled him into a strange, a grotesque notion that if he should accept, it would be playing away his last card, risking a decisive step, taking a sort of pledge before God to settle there and end his days in His immediate presence.

But what was most strange was that this idea, so imperative and overpowering that it excluded all possible reflection, bereft him of all his powers of self-protection, left him disarmed at the mercy of he knew not what—­this idea, which nothing justified, was not centred, not fixed on Solesmes; whither he should retreat was for the moment of small importance; that was not the question; the only point to settle was whether he meant to yield at all to a vague impulse, to obey unformulated orders which were nevertheless positive, and give an earnest to God, Who seemed to be harassing him without any sufficient explanation.

He felt himself inexorably condemned, tacitly compelled to pronounce his decision then and there.

He tried to struggle, to reason, to recover his self-possession; but the very effort was fatal.  He felt a sort of inward syncope, as though, while his body was still upright, his soul was fainting within him with fatigue and terror.