In the last carriage were Madame Armand-Dubois with the Countess and her daughter; in the second, the Count and Anthime Armand-Dubois.
No allusion was made over Fleurissoire’s grave to his unlucky adventure. But on the way back from the cemetery, as soon as Julius de Baraglioul was alone with Anthime, he began:
“I promised you I would intercede on your behalf with his Holiness.”
“God is my witness that I never asked you to.”
“True! But I was so outraged by the state of destitution in which the Church had abandoned you, that I listened only to my own heart.”
“God is my witness that I never complained.”
“I know ... I know ... I was irritated to death by your resignation! And even—since you insist—I must admit, my dear Anthime, that it seemed to me a proof of pride rather than sanctity, and the last time I saw you at Milan that exaggerated resignation of yours struck me really as savouring more of rebellion than of true piety, and was extremely distasteful to me as a Christian. God didn’t demand as much of you as all that! To speak frankly, I was shocked by your attitude.”
“And I, my dear brother—perhaps I too may be allowed to say so now—was grieved by yours. Wasn’t it you yourself who urged me to rebel and....”
Julius, who was getting heated, interrupted him:
“My own experience has sufficiently proved to myself—and to others—during the whole course of my career, that it is perfectly possible to be an excellent Christian, without disdaining the legitimate advantages of the state of life to which it pleases God to call us. The fault that I found with your attitude was precisely that its affectation seemed to give it an appearance of superiority over mine.”