"But," continued the other in a solemn voice, "before accepting, you must do one thing."
The Abbé threw himself back on the lounge in disgust.
"Oh, pray, of course," he exclaimed petulantly. "I am quite aware of that."
"Not only pray, but fast, and that for seven days at least, my dear brother."
This was a very disagreeable view of the matter, but the Abbé was equal to the occasion. After a pause, during which he appeared absorbed in religious reflection, he rose, and taking his friend by the hand—
"You are right," said he, "as you always are. Although of course I know the evil spirit cannot harm an officer of God's Holy Catholic church, even supposing, for the sake of argument, my poor friend can invoke Satan, yet if I am to do any good, if I am to save my friend from destruction, I must be armed with extraordinary grace, and this, as you truly divine, can only come by fasting."
The other wrung his hand warmly. "I knew you would see it in its proper light, my dear Henri," he said, "and now I will leave you to recover your peace of mind by religious meditation."
The Abbé smiled gravely, and let his friend depart. The following letter was the result of this edifying interview between the two divines:
"Mon cher Prince: No doubt you will feel very triumphant when you learn that my object in writing this letter is to accept your offer of presentation to Sa Majesté; but I do not care whether you choose to consider this yielding to what is only in part whimsical curiosity a triumph or no. I will not write to you any cut-and-dried platitudes about good and evil, but I frankly assure you that one of the strongest reasons which induces me to go with you on this fool's errand is a belief that I can discover the absurdity and imposture, and cure you of a hallucination which is unworthy of you.
"Tout à vous,
"Henri Gérard."