“Your business with my uncle is important?” questioned Angela with slightly knitted brows.

“My dear child, all business is important,”—­declared the Abbe, with a smile which spread the light of a certain satirical benevolence all over his plump clean-shaven face, “or so we think—­we who consider that we have any business,—­which is of course a foolish idea,—­but one that is universal to human nature.  We all imagine we are busy—­which is so curious of us!  Will you sit here?—­Permit me!” And he dexterously arranged a couple of cushions in an arm-chair and placed it near the window.  Angela half-reluctantly seated herself, watching the Abbe under the shadow of her long lashes as he sat down opposite to her.  “Yes,—­the emmets, the flies, the worms and the men, are all of one equality in the absurd belief that they can do things—­things that will last.  Their persistent self-credulity is astonishing,—­considering the advance the world has made in science, and the overwhelming proofs we are always getting of the fact that we are only One of an eternal procession of many mighty civilizations, all of which have been swept away with everything they have ever learnt, into silence,—­so that really all we do, or try to do, amounts to doing nothing in the end!”

“That is your creed, I know,” said Angela Sovrani with a faint sigh, “But it is a depressing and a wretched one.”

“I do not find it so,” responded the Abbe, complacently looking at a fine diamond ring that glittered on the little finger of his plump white hand, “It is a creed which impresses upon us the virtue of being happy during the present moment, no matter what the next may bring.  Let each man enjoy himself according to his temperament and capabilities.  Do not impose bounds upon him—­give him his liberty.  Let him alone.  Do not try to bamboozle him with the idea that there is a God looking after him.  So will he be spared much disappointment and useless blasphemy.  If he makes his own affairs unpleasant in this world’, he will not be able to lift up his hands to the innocent skies, which are only composed of pure ether, and blame an impossible Large Person sitting up there who can have no part in circumstances which are entirely unknown outside the earth’s ridiculously small orbit.”

He smiled kindly as he spoke, and looked paternally at “the Sovrani,” who flushed with a sudden warmth that sent a wave of pale rose over her face, and made her cheeks the colour of the flower she wore.

“How cruel you are!” she said,—­“How cold—­how didactic!  You would give each man his freedom according to habit and temperament,—­no matter whether such habit and temperament led to crime or otherwise,—­you would impose upon him no creed,—­no belief in anything higher than himself,—­and yet—­you remain in the Church!”

The Abbe laughed softly.