Червоне та чорне

A Procession

           Ientrustyouwiththewatchingofthenorthwing.Donotleaveit.Iwillkeepthesouthwingandthegreatnaveformyself.Keepaneyeontheconfessional.Itistherethatthewomenaccomplicesofthethievesalwaysspy.Lookoutforthemomentwhenweturnourbacks."

           Ashefinishedspeaking,aquartertotwelvestruck.Immediatelyafterwardsthesoundofthegreatclockwasheard.Itrangafullpeal.ThesefullsolemnsoundsaffectedJulien.Hisimaginationwasnolongerturnedtothingsearthly.TheperfumeoftheincenseandoftheroseleavesthrownbeforetheholysacramentbylittlechildrendisguisedasSt.Johnincreasedhisexaltation.

           LogicallythegravesoundsofthebellshouldonlyhaverecalledtoJulien’smindthethoughtofthelabouroftwentymenpaidfifty-fourcentimeseach,andpossiblyhelpedbyfifteenortwentyfaithfulsouls.Logically,heoughttohavethoughtofthewearandtearofthecordsandoftheframeworkandofthedangeroftheclockitself,whichfallsdowneverytwocenturies,andtohaveconsideredthemeansofdiminishingthesalaryofthebell-ringers,orofpayingthembysomeindulgenceorothergracedispensedfromthetreasuresoftheChurchwithoutdiminishingitspurse.

           Julien’ssoulexaltedbythesesoundswithalltheirvirilefulness,insteadofmakingthesewisereflections,wanderedintherealmofimagination.Hewillneverturnoutagoodpriestoragoodadministrator.Soulswhichgetthrilledsoeasilyareatthebestonlycapableofproducinganartist.AtthismomentthepresumptionofJulienburstsoutintofullview.

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