"'It is evident to me, my son,' said the Bishop, 'that some heavier sorrow is lying at your heart; tell it, and let me, if it may be, give you comfort and support.' Cabrebra hesitated; and at last avowed that such was the case. Considerable entreaty, however, was necessary to wring the mystery from him: when at last he said, in a voice broken and agitated, 'You know me, Holy Father, for a good and faithful son of the Church--for one who reveres its ordinances, and those who dispense them» Think, then, of my deep misery when---- but I cannot--I am utterly unable to proceed.' After much pressing he resumed, with sudden energy--'Yes--I know I shall never feel peace and happiness more, for although I have done many a hard and cruel deed, I never, till now, had the dreadful duty to order a Bishop to be shot! This is what is breaking my heart--this is my secret misery.'
"It is scarcely necessary to say, that he was speedily recovered from so dreadful an embarrassment, for the Bishop was too good a Christian to see a devout soldier reduced to such extremity. The money was paid, and the Bishop ransomed."
Our celebrity of to-night was of less mark--indeed, nominally, of none--but he has but to escape "rope and gun." and he will make a name for himself.
He is a young Frenchman, one who, beginning at the lowest rung of the ladder, may still climb high. Strange paths are open to eminence nowadays, and there is no reason why a man may not begin life as a "Vaudevilliste," and end it "Pair de France."
Jules de Russigny--whence the "de" came from we must not inquire--like most of the smart men of the day, is a Provençal; he was educated at a _Séminaire_, and destined for the priesthood. Some slight irregularity caused his dismissal, and he came to Paris on foot to seek his fortune. When toiling up a steep ascent of the road at St Maurice, he saw before him on the way a heavily laden travelling carriage, which, with the aid of his struggling post-horses, was also labouring up the hill; an elderly gentleman had descended to walk, and was plodding wearily after his lumbering equipage. As Jules reached the crest of the ridge, all were gone, and nothing but a deep column of dust announced the course of the departed carriage: at his feet, however, he discovered a paper, which, closely written, and, by its numerous corrections, appeared as closely studied, must have fallen from the pocket of the traveller.