years of work.
Parliament was roused and asked the Chief of the Government what measures he

proposed to take in order to repel the odious attacks made by Colomban upon
the honour of the National Arm and the safety of Penguinia. Robin Mielleux

denounced Colomban's impiousaudacity and proclaimed amid the cheers of the
legislators that the man would be summoned before the Courts to answer for his

infamous libel.
The Minister of War was called to the tribune and appeared in it transfigured.

He had no longer the air, as in former days, of one of the sacred geese of the
Penguin citadels. Now, bristling, with outstretched neck and hooked beak, he

seemed the symbolical vulture fastened to the livers of his country's enemies.
In the august silence of the assembly he pronounced these words only:

"I swear that Pyrot is a rascal."
This speech of Greatauk was reported all over Penguinia and satisfied the

public conscience.
V. THE REVEREND FATHERS AGARIC AND CORNEMUSE

Colomban bore with meekness and surprise the weight of the general
reprobation. He could not go out without being stoned, so he did not go out.

He remained in his study with a superbobstinacy, writing new memoranda in
favour of the encaged innocent. In the mean time among the few readers that he

found, some, about a dozen, were struck by his reasons and began to doubt
Pyrot's guilt. They broached the subject to their friends and endeavoured to

spread the light that had arisen in their minds. One of them was a friend of
Robin Mielleux and confided to him his perplexities, with the result that he

was no longer received by that Minister. Another demanded explanations in an
open letter to the Minister of War. A third published a terrible pamphlet. The

latter, whose name was Kerdanic, was a formidable controversialist. The public
was unmoved. It was said that these defenders of the traitor had been bribed

by the rich Jews; they were stigmatized by the name of Pyrotists and the
patriots swore to exterminate them. There were only a thousand or twelve

hundred Pyrotists in the whole vast Republic, but it was believed that they
were everywhere. People were afraid of finding them in the promenades, at

meetings, at receptions, in fashionable drawing-rooms, at the dinner-table,
even in the conjugal couch. One half of the population was suspected by the

other half. The discord set all Alca on fire.
In the mean time Father Agaric, who managed his big school for young nobles,

followed events with anxious attention. The misfortunes of the Penguin Church
had not disheartened him. He remained faithful to Prince Crucho and preserved

the hope of restoring the heir of the Draconides to the Penguin throne. It
appeared to him that the events that were happening or about to happen in the

country, the state of mind of which they were at once the effect and the
cause, and the troubles that necessarily resulted from them might--if they

were directed, guided, and led by the profoundwisdom of a monk--overthrow the
Republic and incline the Penguins to restore Prince Crucho, from whose piety

the faithful hoped for so much solace. Wearing his huge black hat, the brims
of which looked like the wings of Night, he walked through the Wood of Conils

towards the factory where his venerable friend, Father Cornemuse, distilled
the hygienic St. Orberosian liqueur, The good monk's industry, so cruelly

affected in the time of Emiral Chatillon, was being restored from its ruins.
One heard goods trains rumbling through the Wood and one saw in the sheds

hundreds of orphans clothed in blue, packing bottles and nailing up cases.
Agaric found the venerable Cornemuse standing before his stoves and surrounded

by his retorts. The shining pupils of the old man's eyes had again become as
rubies, his skull shone with its former elaborate and careful polish.

Agaric first congratulated the pious distiller on the restored activity of his
laboratories and workshops.

"Business is recovering. I thank God for it," answered the old man of Conils.
"Alas! it had fallen into a bad state, Brother Agaric. You raw the desolation

of this establishment. I need say no more."
Agaric turned away his head.

"The St. Orberosian liqueur," continued Cornemuse, "is making fresh conquests.
But none the less my industry remains uncertain and precarious. The laws of

ruin and desolation that struck it have not been abrogated, they have only
been suspended."

And the monk of Conils lifted his ruby eyes to heaven.
Agaric put his hand on his shoulder.

"What a sight, Cornemuse, does unhappy Penguinia present to us! Everywhere
disobedience, independence, liberty! We seethe proud, the haughty, the men of

revolt rising up. After having braved the Divine laws they now rear themselves
against human laws, so true is it that in order to be a good citizen a man

must be a good Christian. Colomban is trying to imitate Satan. Numerous
criminals are following his fatal example. They want, in their rage, to put

aside all checks, to throw off all yokes, to free themselves from the most
sacred bonds, to escape from the most salutary restraints. They strike their

country to make it obey them. But they will be overcome by the weight of
public animadversion, vituperation, indignation, fury, execration, and

abomination. That is the abyss to which they have been led by atheism, free
thought, and the monstrous claim to judge for themselves and to form their own

opinions."
"Doubtless, doubtless," replied Father Cornemuse, shaking his head, "but I

confess that the care of distilling these simples has prevented me from
following public affairs. I only know that people are talking a great deal

about a man called Pyrot. Some maintain that he is guilty, others affirm that
he is innocent, but I do not clearly understand the motives that drive both

parties to mix themselves up in a business that concerns neither of them."
The pious Agaric asked eagerly:

"You do not doubt Pyrot's guilt?"
"I cannot doubt it, dear Agaric," answered the monk of Conils. "That would be

contrary to the laws of my country which we ought to respect as long as they
are not opposed to the Divine laws. Pyrot is guilty, for he has been

convicted. As to saying more for or against his guilt, that would be to erect
my own authority against that of the judges, a thing which I will take good

care not to do. Besides, it is useless, for Pyrot has been convicted. If he
has not been convicted because he is guilty, he is guilty because he has been

convicted; it comes to the same thing. I believe in his guilt as every good
citizen ought to believe in it; and I will believe in it as long as the

established jurisdiction will order me to believe in it, for it is not for a
private person but for a judge to proclaim the innocence of a convicted

person. Human justice is venerable even in the errors inherent in its fallible
and limited nature. These errors are never irreparable; if the judges do not

repair them on earth, God will repair them in Heaven. Besides I have great
confidence in general Greatauk, who, though he certainly does not look it,

seems to me to be an abler man than all those who are attacking him."
"Dearest Cornemuse," cried the pious Agaric, "the Pyrot affair, if pushed to

the point whither we can lead it by the help of God and the necessary funds,
will produce the greatest benefits. It will lay bare the vices of this

Anti-Christian Republic and will incline the Penguins to restore the throne of
the Draconides and the prerogatives of the Church. But to do that it is

necessary for the people to see the clergy in the front rank of its defenders.
Let us march against the enemies of the army, against those who insult our

heroes, and everybody will follow us."
"Everybody will be too many," murmured the monk of Conils, shaking his head.

"I see that the Penguins want to quarrel. If we mix ourselves up in their
quarrel they will become reconciled at our expense and we shall have to pay

the cost of the war. That is why, if you are guided by me, dear Agaric, you
will not engage the Church in this adventure."

"You know my energy; you know my prudence. I will compromise nothing. . . .
Dear Cornemuse, I only want from you the funds necessary for us to begin the

campaign."
For a long time Cornemuse refused to bear the expenses of what he thought was

a fatal enterprise. Agaric was in turn pathetic and terrible. At last,
yielding to his prayers and threats, Cornemuse, with banging head and swinging

arms, went to the austere cell that concealed his evangelical poverty. In the
whitewashed wall under a branch of blessed box, there was fixed a safe. He

opened it, and with a sigh took out a bundle of bills which, with hesitating
hands, he gave to the pious Agaric.

"Do not doubt it, dear Cornemuse," said the latter, thrusting the papers into
the pocket of his overcoat, "this Pyrot affair has been sent us by God for the

glory and exaltation of the Church of Penguinia."
"I pray that you may be right!" sighed the monk of Conils.

And, left alone in his laboratory, he gazed, through his exquisite eyes, with
an ineffable sadness at his stoves and his retorts.

VI. THE SEVEN HUNDRED PYROTISTS
The seven hundred Pyrotists inspired the public with an increasing aversion.

Every day two or three of them were beaten to death in the streets. One of
them was publicly whipped, another thrown into the river, a third tarred and

feathered and led through a laughing crowd, a fourth had his nose cut off by a
captain of dragoons. They did not dare to show themselves at their clubs, at

tennis, or at the races; they put on a disguise when they went to the Stock
Exchange. In these circumstances the Prince des Boscenos thought it urgent to