curé, his godchild beside them, he had asked questions, which, considering his opinions, appeared strange to the Abbé Chaperon, yet ignorant of the inward labor with which God was redressing this beautiful conscience.
“Do you believe in apparitions?” asked the unbeliever of his pastor whilst interrupting the game.
“Cardan, a great philosopher of the sixteenth century, has said that he has seen some,” replied the curé.
“I know all those that have engrossed scholars, I have just read Plotin over again. At this moment, I am questioning you as a Catholic, and ask you if you think that a dead man can revisit the living.”
“But Jesus appeared to His Apostles after His death,” rejoined the curé. “The church must have faith in our Saviour’s apparitions. As to miracles, they are not wanting,” said the Abbé Chaperon, smiling, “would you care to hear the most recent? It happened during the eighteenth century.”
“Bah!”
“Yes, the blessed Marie-Alphonse de Liguori knew of the Pope’s death far away from Rome, the very moment when the Holy Father was expiring, and there are numerous witnesses of this miracle. The sainted bishop, being in a trance, heard the sovereign pontiff’s last words and repeated them before several persons. The courier entrusted to announce it to the Bishop, only arrived thirty hours after—”
“Jesuit!” replied old Minoret, jokingly, “I do
