A smile, of peculiar and undefinable expression, crossed the thin lips
of the priest; he rose, walked to the door, and saw that it was
carefully closed. I expected some important communication, but in vain;
pacing the small room to and fro, as if in a musing mood, the Abbe
remained silent, till, pausing opposite some fencing foils, which among
various matters (books, papers, quoits, etc.) were thrown idly in one
corner of the room, he said,--

"They tell me that you are the best fencer in the school--is it so?"

"I hope not, for fencing is an accomplishment in which Gerald is very
nearly my equal," I replied.

"You run, ride, leap, too, better than any one else, according to the
votes of your comrades?"

"It is a noble reputation," said I, "in which I believe I am only
excelled by our huntsman's eldest son."

"You are a strange youth," repeated the priest; "no pursuit seems to
give you pleasure, and no success to gratify your vanity. Can you not
think of any triumph which would elate you?"

I was silent.

"Yes," cried Montreuil, approaching me,--"yes," cried he, "I read your
heart, and I respect it; these are petty competitions and worthless
honours. You require a nobler goal, and a more glorious reward. He who
feels in his soul that Fate has reserved for him a great and exalted
part in this world's drama may reasonably look with indifference on