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The grief of the venerable Bishop of Langres, at beholding his cherished grandchild and hopeful pupil, Attalus, torn from him by the relentless tyrant of Austrasia, was perhaps more poignant than that of any of the mothers of Auvergne, on parting with their fair sons. He contemplated with painful anxiety the evil consequences that might result from a youth of his tender age being removed into a heathen land, where he would be beset with the snares of Satan on every side; where, too, he would be called upon to renounce the Lord of Glory, who created and redeemed him, and to bow down to senseless stocks and stones, the representations of the demon-gods whom the majority of the Franks still served.

"But," said Attalus, in reply to the apprehensions which his grandfather had expressed on this subject, "the King of Austrasia is a Christian, I am told."

Attalus and his Grandfather.

"Nay, my child," replied the Bishop, "profane not the name of a Christian, by bestowing it upon a man of blood and violence, who liveth in open violation of all his Christian vows. I tell thee, Attalus, that Theodoric acts as much like a heathen as the blindest of his idolatrous subjects; but there is this difference in their outward practice—the ignorant Franks still offer incense to shapes of wood and stone, while their monarch bows down in a Christian church, without yielding either love or obedience to the God whom he affects to adore. In doing this, Theodoric acts the part of a hypocrite, and sins against the truth in which he was instructed by his pious mother, the Queen Clotilda. But thou, my Attalus, follow not after his steps; but let thy whole life be in conformity with the profession of that holy faith wherein thou hast been so carefully brought up."