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Monsieur Safrac reminded me of the hours, already long since past, which we had spent together in the college when he had taught philosophy. "You, Ary," he said to me, "were my best pupil. Your quick intelligence was always in advance of the thought of the teacher. For that reason I at once became attached to you. I like a Christian to be daring.
"Yes, my child," said M. Safrac, "you were my favourite pupil, and God permits preferences if they are founded on impartial judgment. So I decided at once that there was in you the making of a man and a Christian. Not that great imperfections were not in evidence. You were irresolute, uncertain, and easily disconcerted. Passions, so far latent, smouldered in your soul.
These singular words drew me little by little out of myself and filled me with a curious interest. I therefore felt something of disappointment when M. Safrac, planting his elbows on the table, said to me: "Enough on that subject. Some day, perhaps, you will read my book, which will enlighten you on this point.
I loved you because of your great restlessness, as I did another of my pupils for quite opposite qualities. I loved Paul d'Ervy for his unswerving steadfastness of mind and heart." At this name I blushed and turned pale and with difficulty suppressed a cry, and when I tried to answer I found it impossible to speak. M. Safrac appeared not to notice my distress.
"What more do they say?" "Well, there are those who say he is a sorcerer, and that he can tell fortunes." "What nonsense!" "For my part I keep a still tongue! But if M. Safrac is not a sorcerer and fortune-teller, why does he spend his time reading books?" The waggon stopped in front of the presbytery.
I am either very fortunate or very unfortunate! What name can one give to a happiness gained by an evil action? I have betrayed, I have broken the heart of a good friend... I carried off yonder in Constantinople " M. Safrac interrupted me: "My son, leave out of your narrative the faults of others and name no one."
"'It is true, I am old," she answered smiling. M. Safrac, still standing in front of the fireplace, had for some time bent towards me in an attitude of keen attention. "Continue," he said. "Often, my father, I questioned Leila about her religion.
Hardly had I uttered these words when M. Safrac, pale and trembling, sprang forward, and, seizing my arm, shouted: "She told the truth! I know now. I know who this creature was, Ary! Your instinct did not deceive you. It was not a woman. Continue, continue, I implore." "My father, I have nearly finished. Alas, for Leila's love, I had broken my solemn plighted troth, I had betrayed my best friend.
The next morning when I woke I found M. Safrac standing at the side of my bed. "Come, Ary, and hear the Mass which I am about to celebrate for your intention. After the Holy Sacrifice I shall be ready to listen to what you have to say." The Church of Artigues was a little sanctuary in the Norman style which still flourished in Aquitaine in the twelfth century.
I left the idiot, and followed the cure's servant, who conducted me to her master in a room where the table was already laid. I found M. Safrac greatly changed in the three years since I had last seen him. His tall figure was bent He was excessively emaciated. Two piercing eyes glowed in his thin face. His nose, which seemed to have grown longer, descended over his shrunken lips.
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