The Chevalier stared scowlingly into the Jesuit's eyes. "Would you forgive a father who, as a pastime, had temporarily made you … a bastard?"
The priest's shudder did not escape the searching eyes of the Chevalier. "Ha! I thought not. Do not expect me, a worldly man, to do what you, a priest, shrink from."
"Do not put me in your place. Monsieur. I would forgive him had he done to me what he has done to you."
The Chevalier saw no ambiguity. "That is easily said. You are a priest, I am a worldling; what to you would mean but little, to me would be the rending of the core of life. My father can not undo what he has done; he can not piece together and make whole the wreck he has made of my life."
"Have you no charity?" persuasively.
The Chevalier spread his hands in negation. He was growing restive.
"Will you let me teach you?" Brother Jacques was expiating the sin of envy.
"You may teach, but you will find me somewhat dull in learning."
"Do you know what charity is?"
"It is a fine word, covered with fine clothes, and goes about in pomp and glitter. It builds in the abstract: telescopes for the blind, lutes for the deaf, flowers for the starved. Bah! charity has had little bearing on my life."