That, it will be recalled,

Why not mention these almost divinely childish sayings of kindness? Puerile they may be; but these sublime puerilities were peculiar to Saint Francis d'Assisi and of Marcus Aurelius.

　　One day he sprained his ankle in his effort to avoid stepping on an ant. Thus lived this just man.

　　Sometimes he fell asleep in his garden, and then there was nothing more venerable possible.

　　Monseigneur Bienvenu had formerly been, if the stories anent his youth, and even in regard to his manhood, were to be believed, a passionate, and, possibly, a violent man.

　　His universal suavity was less an instinct of nature than the result of a grand conviction which had filtered into his heart through the medium of life, and had trickled there slowly, thought by thought; for, in a character, as in a rock, there may exist apertures made by drops of water. These hollows are uneffaceable; these formations are indestructible.

　　In 1815, as we think we have already said, he reached his seventy-fifth birthday, but he did not appear to be more than sixty.

　　He was not tall; he was rather plump; and, in order to combat this tendency, he was fond of taking long strolls on foot; his step was firm, and his form was but slightly bent, a detail from which we do not pretend to draw any conclusion.

　　Gregory XVI., at the age of eighty, held himself erect and smiling, which did not prevent him from being a bad bishop.

　　Monseigneur Welcome had what the people term a "fine head," but so amiable was he that they forgot that it was fine.

　　When he conversed with that infantile gayety which was one of his charms, and of which we have already spoken, people felt at their ease with him, and joy seemed to radiate from his whole person.

　　His fresh and ruddy complexion, his very white teeth, all of which he had preserved, and which were displayed by his smile, gave him that open and easy air which cause the remark to be made of a man, "He's a good fellow"; and of an old man, "He is a fine man."

　　That, it will be recalled, was the effect which he produced upon Napoleon.

　　On the first encounter, and to one who saw him for the first time, he was nothing, in fact, but a fine man.

　　But if one remained near him for a few hours, and beheld him in the least degree pensive, the fine man became gradually transfigured, and took on some imposing quality, I know not what; his broad and serious brow, rendered august by his white locks, became august also by virtue of meditation; majesty radiated from his goodness, though his goodness ceased not to be radiant; one experienced something of the emotion which one would feel on beholding a smiling angel slowly unfold his wings, without ceasing to smile.

　　Respect, an unutterable respect, penetrated you by degrees and mounted to your heart, and one felt that one had before him one of those strong, thoroughly tried, and indulgent souls where thought is so grand that it can no longer be anything but gentle.