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sincere, I entreat you, and renounce this singular fiction of
yours." I had even prepared to introduce the subject with an
edifying discourse upon the vanity of all imposture, even of such
untruths as may appear in themselves harmless.
I put off my purpose from day to day; I partly expected that we
should grow still more friendly and confidential, but I had never
the heart really to try the experiment upon his feelings. When I
reflect upon this want of resolution, I sometimes attempt to
reconcile myself to it on the ground of proper urbanity,
unwillingness to give offence, and other reasons of the kind. Still
these excuses are far from satisfying me; I cannot disguise that I
ought not to have permitted my dislike to preaching him a sermon to
stand in the way of speaking my real sentiments. To affect to give
credit to imposture of any kind is miserable weakness, such as I
think I should not, even in similar circumstances, exhibit again.
At the same time, it must be confessed that, preface it as you will,
it is a harsh thing to say to any one, "I don't believe you!" He
will naturally resent it; it would deprive us of his friendship or
regard: nay it would, perhaps, make him hate us. Yet it is better
to run every risk than to sanction an untruth. Possibly, the man
capable of it, upon finding that his imposture is known, will
himself admire our sincerity, and afterwards be induced to reflect
in a manner that may produce the best results.
The under-jailers were unanimously of opinion that he was really
Louis XVII., and having already seen so many strange changes of
fortune, they were not without hopes that he would some day ascend
the throne of France, and remember the good treatment and attentions
he had met with. With the exception of assisting in his escape,
they made it their object to comply with all his wishes. It was by
such means I had the honour of forming an acquaintance with this
grand personage. He was of the middle height, between forty and
forty-five years of age, rather inclined to corpulency, and had
features strikingly like those of the Bourbons. It is very probable
that this accidental resemblance may have led him to assume the
character he did, and play so melancholy a part in it.
CHAPTER XXI.
There is one other instance of unworthy deference to private
opinion, of which I must accuse myself. My neighbour was not an
Atheist, he rather liked to converse on religious topics, as if he
justly appreciated the importance of the subject, and was no
stranger to its discussion. Still, he indulged a number of
unreasonable prejudices against Christianity, which he regarded less
in its real nature than its abuses. The superficial philosophy
which preceded the French revolution had dazzled him. He had formed
an idea that religious worship might be offered up with greater
purity than as it had been dictated by the religion of the
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