N.
“I assure you, he says grace every day before he takes his dinner.”
“You must be mistaken, my friend. I had half an hour’s conversation with him yesterday morning; he did not look like a fool, nor like a hypocrite. We talked about the Jesuits, and it was a pleasure to hear him. A journalist of Paris could not have spoken better.”
“Twenty-five bottles of champagne against one, to prove that I am not mistaken. I have observed him doing it two or three times.”
The above conversation took place between two young men of good society, in the town of — in France. The subject of it was a young sub-lieutenant, who had lately arrived in the town, and took his meals with those young men and others at the table d’hote of one of the hotels, which was habitually frequented by the military and by commercial travelers.
“I find it difficult to believe it,” replied the elder of the two young men, in whose voice and manners there was something serious, and a certain gravity in contrast to the flightiness and thoughtlessness of his friend.
“Well then,” said the latter; “attention! There goes the dinner bell; you’ll soon see for yourself.”
The dinner bell had just summoned the guests, who were not very numerous that day. Amongst them was the young sub-lieutenant. They took their seats at the table, and it could easily be observed that the young officer, amidst the noise of the waiters and the hum of conversation, remained for some moments in a devotional attitude.
“Now, was I wrong?” whispered the giddy young man to his comrade. “He’s one of the Pope’s soldiers.”
“Be quiet, Ernest,” replied the elder of the two, “don’t judge in such a trifling way.”
“But, my dear Derville,” said the former, “you must see that this is very ludicrous. I have a great mind to amuse myself at his expense.”
“As you please; but, before being one of your party, I should prefer to wait and be sure whether this is a matter for joking.”
“Certainly, Derville. Let us wait till tomorrow, for our fellows don’t muster strongly today.”
On the following day the superficial Ernest had communicated his discovery to some of his friends. The moment they sat down to dinner, the eyes of the guests, so maliciously prepared by Ernest, turned with a kind of mocking curiosity towards the officer, who, though aware of it, gave himself to his usual few moments of silent devotion.
No sooner had he finished, when the whole company broke out into a peal of intentional laughter. They began to whisper and to point at him by moving their heads or by furtive glances. When things had come to that point, that he could no longer doubt that he was meant, the officer addressed himself to the whole of his fellow guests, saying:
“It seems I am in the company of atheists!”
“What do you mean?” said Ernest, to whom the remark appeared to have been especially addressed.
“If I become an object of mockery for having shown that I believe in God, there can be no doubt, that none of those here present believe in God,” answered the officer.
There arose a general murmur. One of the elder guests, who by his reply seemed to express the general opinion, judging from the approbation following his words answered: “I believe on the contrary, Monsieur, that not one of those here present denies the existence of God. Materialism has never had many supporters, and now less than ever.”
(To be continued)