It was in vain that Julien pretended to be petty and stupid. He could not please; he was too different. Yet all these professors, he said to himself, are very clever people, men in a thousand. Why do they not like my humility? Only one seemed to take advantage of his readiness to believe everything, and apparently to swallow everything. This was the abbé Chas-Bernard, the director of the ceremonies of the cathedral, where, for the last fifteen years, he had been given occasion to hope for a canonry. While waiting, he taught homiletics at the seminary. During the period of Julien’s blindness, this class was one of those in which he most frequently came out top. The abbé Chas had used this as an opportunity to manifest some friendship to him, and when the class broke up, he would be glad to take him by the arm for some turns in the garden.
“What is he getting at,” Julien would say to himself. He noticed with astonishment that, for hours on end, the abbé would talk to him about the ornaments possessed by the cathedral. It had seventeen lace chasubles, besides the mourning vestments. A lot was hoped from the old wife of the judge de Rubempré. This lady, who was ninety years of age, had kept for at least seventy years her wedding dress of superb Lyons material, embroidered with gold.
“Imagine, my friend,” the abbé Chas would say, stopping abruptly, and staring with amazement, “that this material keeps quite stiff. There is so much gold in it. It is generally thought in Besançon that the will of the judge’s wife will result in the cathedral treasure being increased by more than ten chasubles, without counting four or five capes for the great feast. I will go further,” said the abbé Chas, lowering his voice, “I have reasons for thinking the judge’s wife will leave us her magnificent silver gilt candlesticks, supposed to have been bought in Italy by Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, whose favourite minister was one of the good lady’s ancestors.”
“But what is the fellow getting at with all this old clothes business,” thought Julien. “These adroit preliminaries have been going on for centuries, and nothing comes of them. He must be very suspicious of me. He is cleverer than all the others, whose secret aim can be guessed so easily in a fortnight. I understand. He must have been suffering for fifteen years from mortified ambition.”
Julien was summoned one evening in the middle of the fencing lesson to the abbé Pirard, who said to him.
“To-morrow is the feast of Corpus Domini (the Fête Dieu) the abbé Chas-Bernard needs you to help him to decorate the cathedral. Go and obey.” The abbé Pirard called him back and added sympathetically. “It depends on you whether you will utilise the occasion to go into the town.”
“Incedo per ignes,” answered Julien. (I have secret enemies).
Julien went to the cathedral next morning with downcast eyes. The sight of the streets and the activity which was beginning to prevail in the town did him good. In all quarters they were extending the fronts of the houses for the procession.
All the time that he had passed in the seminary seemed to him no more than a moment. His thoughts were of Vergy, and of the pretty Amanda whom he might perhaps meet, for her café was not very far off. He saw in the distance the abbé Chas-Bernard on the threshold of his beloved cathedral. He was a big man with a jovial face and a frank air. To-day he looked triumphant. “I was expecting you, my dear son,” he cried as soon as he saw Julien in the distance. “Be welcome. This day’s duty will be protracted and arduous. Let us fortify ourselves by a first breakfast. We will have the second at ten o’clock during high mass.”