In the first place, as to his health.

Had he forgotten La Trappe, where the food was far more innutritious and the rule far stricter?
Why be alarmed beforehand?
And, on the other hand, could he fail to perceive the need for conversation, the wisdom of speech, relieving the solitude of the cloister just when weariness might supervene?
It was a remedy against constant introspection, and exercise taken with others secured health to the soul and gave tone to the body; and as for saying that these monastic dialogues would be trivial, were the conversations he might hear in any other society more edifying?
In short, was not the company of the Brethren far superior to that of men of any profession, condition, or sort, whom he would be obliged to meet in the world outside?
And what, after all, were these trifles, these minor details in the splendid completeness of the cloister?
What were these petty matters--mere nothings--in the scale as against peace, the cheerfulness of the soul in the joy of the services and the fulfilment of the task of praise?
Would not the tide of worship cleanse everything, and wash away the small defects of men, like straws in a stream?
Was it not the case of the mote and the beam, with the parts reversed--imperfections discerned in others, when he was so far their inferior?
"Constantly, at the end of every argument, I find my own lack of humility," said he to himself.

"What efforts are needed to remove the mire of my sins! In a convent perhaps I might rub the rust off," and he dreamed of a purer life, a soul soaked in prayer, expanding in communion with Christ, who might perhaps, without too much soiling Himself, come down to dwell in him.

"It is the only life desirable," cried he.

"It is settled!" But then, like a douche of cold water, a reflection overwhelmed him.