“Why then be so astonished,” replied the officer, “at my acting consistently with these principles? Do you find it so ridiculous, that I thank God for the nourishment He gives me? If it is really Himself Who gives it me, is it too much for me to thank Him for it?”
“He is a Jesuit, sure enough!” whispered one of the guests, a commercial traveler, into his neighbor’s ear.
“My action,” answered the officer, who had heard it, “indicates in no way what I am, but yours shows at once what you are not.”
“And pray, what are we not?” demanded Ernest in an irritated tone.
“Religious people,” was the answer.
“But,” said the old gentleman who had spoken before, “what need has God of our thanks?”
“It is not God who needs to receive them,” replied the officer, “but I who want to give them.”
“A thankful heart is sufficient,” remarked another of the guests.
“Then you must not blame a beggar who every day receives from you fresh alms, if he never touches his hat, or says, ‘Thank you.’”
“But, Monsieur,” cried emphatically a young collegian, who was having his holidays, “a sound philosophy—”
There he stopped, being unable to continue, but assured that the word “philosophy” in itself was sufficient to convince the hearers.
“Well, Monsieur,” said the officer, “are you going to use philosophy as a sponge of religion? If philosophy teaches you to be ungrateful, philosophy is wrong. In that case,” he continued, whilst softening, by the gentleness of his voice, the sharp mettle of his thought, “I should prefer a dog to a philosopher; for the animal at least licks the hand that feeds it, and by its caresses proves its gratitude.”
Nobody gave a reply. The collegian contented himself with murmuring between his teeth: “Voltaire Rousseau Fanaticism.” The silence lasted some minutes. The curiosity, at first of a malicious nature, gradually changed into a certain interest, inspired by the simple noble manner of the stranger, no less than by his answers. Ernest felt secretly vexed, because he had nothing to answer, either by way of jesting or of good reasons. The latter were all on the side of his antagonist, and joking was out of the question, because the seriousness of the stranger commanded seriousness. Ernest broke his bread into crumbs, and put his empty glass to his mouth, whilst his friend still further increased his confusion by regarding him with a look which seemed to reproach him for his presumption.
“According to you,” said Ernest at last to the officer in a peevish tone, “it is a proof that one is wicked, if one does not mutter some words before eating one’s soup.”
“Your remark is not fair,” said the officer smiling. “I only said that one who lacks gratitude, cannot be called grateful. Would you dare to prove my assertion to be false?”
Ernest was confounded. Accustomed to success, his self-conceit was wounded to the quick. He wanted to revenge himself, thinking that his queer antagonist, if he defended such an unimportant part of his religion, would have to defend the whole of it, and he felt persuaded that in matters of religion nothing could be successfully maintained. So he said to the officer:
“Monsieur appears to be profoundly religious.”
“Not so much as I should wish to be,” replied the officer, “but enough to bless and love my Benefactor.”
“And probably you condemn all who do not think as you do!”
“I think that those who refuse to conduct themselves according to the will of God, deserve to be condemned:”
“And how do you know what is the will of God?”
“He has revealed it.”
“Oh, the Bible!” sneered Ernest. “But what about those who do not believe in it?”
“They will go to hell,” was the reply.
“What! Even if they are virtuous?”
“Those who do not believe, are not virtuous,” said the officer.
“What!” exclaimed Ernest. “Do you mean to say there is no virtuous person except a religious devotee?”
“No one is saved, except he that believes on Jesus Christ and obeys Him,” was the calm but firm reply.
“For my part,” said one of the guests, who had hitherto been silent, “I think that every religion is good, provided one is honest.”
“Very good indeed!” cried the commercial traveler, “I am of your opinion.”
“And I too!” said the collegian.
“And I also!” re-echoed all those present, with the exception of Derville and the officer.
“You see, Monsieur,” said Ernest, “you stand alone in your opinion.”
(To be continued)