“One which might involve us in misfortunes.”
The Parisian exclaimed:
“Yes; and why all these misfortunes in the world? Misfortunes! What are they sent for, these misfortunes? What use do they serve? There was the fire at the Odéon theatre, and immediately a number of families thrown out of employment. Is that just? I don’t know what is your religion, sir, but I am puzzled by all this.”
“So am I,” said the St. Malo man.
“Everything that happens here below,” continued the Parisian, “seems to go wrong. It looks as if Providence, for some reason, no longer watched over the world.”
The St. Malo man scratched the top of his head, like one making an effort to understand. The Parisian continued:
“Our guardian angel seems to be absent. There ought to be a decree against celestial absenteeism. He is at his country-house, and takes no notice of us; so all gets in disorder. It is evident that this guardian is not in the government; he is taking holiday, leaving some vicar—some seminarist angel, some wretched creature with sparrows’-wings—to look after affairs.”
Captain Clubin, who had approached the speakers during this conversation, laid his hand upon the shoulder of the Parisian.
“Silence, sir,” he said. “Keep a watch upon your words. We are upon the sea.”
No one spoke again aloud.