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And we must take heed not to compromise religion in political enterprises." Agaric replied eagerly: "Fear nothing. We shall hold all the threads of the plot, but we ourselves shall remain in the background. We shall not be seen." "Like flies in milk," murmured the monk of Conils. And turning his keen ruby-coloured eyes towards his brother monk: "Take care.
Agaric, standing before the wall, entreated his dearest brother to listen to him for a moment: "Understand your own interest better, Cornemuse! Penguinia is ours. What do we need to conquer it? just one effort more . . . one more little sacrifice of money and . . ." But without listening further, the monk of Conils drew in his head and closed his window.
"You can see for yourself," answered the monk of Conils in a feeble voice, turning a sorrowful look Upon Agaric. "I am going into my house." The red pupils of his eyes no longer imitated the triumph and brilliance of the ruby, they flashed mournful and troubled glances. His countenance had lost its happy fulness.
Agaric made a last effort to engage the wise distiller in his enterprise. He pointed him to a prompt, certain, dazzling success. "Don't you wish to share in it?" he added. "Don't you wish to bring back your king from exile?" "Exile is pleasant to men of good will," answered the monk of Conils. "If you are guided by me, my dear Brother Agaric, you will give up your project for the present.
Agaric sat down on a rickety stool, but continued mute. Then the monk of Conils inquired: "Tell me some news of your young pupils. Have the dear children sound views?" "I am very satisfied with them," answered the teacher. "It is everything to be nurtured in sound principles.
Agaric first congratulated the pious distiller on the restored activity of his laboratories and workshops. "Business is recovering. I thank God for it," answered the old man of Conils. "Alas! it had fallen into a bad state, Brother Agaric. You raw the desolation of this establishment. I need say no more." Agaric turned away his head. "The St.
"You suffer from the persecution," said Agaric. "It strikes us all." The monk of Conils passed his hand over his afflicted brow: "I told you so, Brother Agaric; I told you that your enterprise would turn against ourselves." "Our defeat is only momentary," replied Agaric eagerly. "It is due to purely accidental causes; it results from mere contingencies.
At the beginning of this speech the monk of Conils had climbed into his window and pulled up the ladder. "I foresee," answered he, with his nose through the sash, "that you will not stop until you have us all expelled from this pleasant, agreeable, and sweet land of Penguinia. Good night; God keep you!"
Honestly, would Penguinia be better off if a police officer came to take me away from here and put me on a steamboat bound for the Islands of Night?" Having thus spoken, the monk of Conils got up and led his guest into a huge shed where hundreds of orphans clothed in blue were packing bottles, nailing up cases, and gumming tickets.
He opened it, and with a sigh took out a bundle of bills which, with hesitating hands, he gave to the pious Agaric. "Do not doubt it, dear Cornemuse," said the latter, thrusting the papers into the pocket of his overcoat, "this Pyrot affair has been sent us by God for the glory and exaltation of the Church of Penguinia." "I pray that you may be right!" sighed the monk of Conils.
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