In coming to him with one's little burden of guilt, one feels somewhat
embarrassed, but while one is hesitating about telling him all, he, with
a discreet and skilful hand, disencumbers one of it rapidly, examines the
contents, smiles or consoles, and the confession is made without one
having uttered a single word; so that after all is over the penitent
exclaims, prostrating one's self before God, "But, Lord, I was pure, pure
as the lily, and yet how uneasy I was!"

Even when he assumes the sacerdotal habit and ceases to be a man, and
speaks in the name of God, the tones of his voice, the refinement of his
look, reveal innate distinction and that spotless courtesy which can not
harm even a minister of God, and which one must cultivate on this side of
the Rue du Bac.

If God wills that there must be a Faubourg St.-Germain in the world--and
it can not be denied that He does--is it not proper that He should give
us a minister who speaks our language and understands our weaknesses?
Nothing is more obvious, and I really do not comprehend some of these
ladies who talk to me about the Abbe Brice. Not that I wish to speak ill
of the good Abbe, for this is neither the time nor the place for it;
he is a holy man, but his sanctity is a little bourgeois and needs
polish.

With him one has to dot one's i's; he is dull in perception, or does not
perceive at all.

Acknowledge a peccadillo, and his brows knit, he must know the hour, the
moment, the antecedents; he examines, he probes, he weighs, and finishes
his thousand questions by being indiscreet and almost improper. Is there