"
"It is a habit I acquired with the savages. And yet, I have known men
of fifty to be young," said the Jesuit, his brows sinking. "I have
known men of thirty to be old. Youth never leaves us till we have
suffered. I am old, very old." He was addressing some inner thought
rather than the Chevalier.
"Well, I am thirty, myself," said the Chevalier with assumed lightness.
"I am neither young nor old. I stand on the threshold. I can not say
that I have suffered since I have known only physical discomforts. But
to call me 'son' . . ."
"Well, then," replied the priest, smiling, "since the disparity in
years is so small as to destroy the dignity of the term, I shall call
you my brother. All men are brothers; it is the Word."
"That is true." How familiar this priest's eyes were! "But some are
rich and some are poor; beggars and thieves and cutthroats; nobly and
basely born."
The Jesuit gazed thoughtfully into his bowl. "Yes, some are nobly and
some are basely born. I have often contemplated what a terrible thing
it must be to possess a delicate, sensitive soul and a body disowned;
to long for the glories of the world from behind the bar sinister, an
object of scorn, contumely and forgetfulness; to be cut away from the
love of women and the affection of men, the two strongest of human
ties; to dream what might and should have been; to be proved guilty of
a crime we did not commit; to be laughed at, to beg futilely, always
subject to that mental conflict between love and hate, charity and
envy.
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