“Here it is,” said Aramis, with a little look of diffidence, which, however, was not exempt from a shade of hypocrisy:
“Vous qui pleurez un passé plein de charmes,
Et qui trainez des jours infortunés,
Tous vos malheurs se verront terminés,
Quand à Dieu seul vous offrirez vos larmes,
Vous qui pleurez!”
“You who weep for pleasures fled,
While dragging on a life of care,
All your woes will melt in air,
If to God your tears are shed,
You who weep!”
D’Artagnan and the curate appeared pleased. The Jesuit persisted in his opinion. “Beware of a profane taste in your theological style. What says Augustine on this subject: ‘Severus sit clericorum verbo.’”
“Yes, let the sermon be clear,” said the curate.
“Now,” hastily interrupted the Jesuit, on seeing that his acolyte was going astray, “now your thesis would please the ladies; it would have the success of one of Monsieur Patru’s pleadings.”
“Please God!” cried Aramis, transported.
“There it is,” cried the Jesuit; “the world still speaks within you in a loud voice, altisimâ voce. You follow the world, my young friend, and I tremble lest grace prove not efficacious.”
“Be satisfied, my reverend father, I can answer for myself.”
“Mundane presumption!”