"But, monsieur," Sister Marthe broke in quickly, "we have no priest
here, and----"
"In that case you should be more careful and on your guard," he
answered gently, stretching out his hand for a breviary that lay on
the table. "I do not think that you know Latin, and----"
He stopped; for, at the sight of the great emotion in the faces of the
two poor nuns, he was afraid that he had gone too far. They were
trembling, and the tears stood in their eyes.
"Do not fear," he said frankly. "I know your names and the name of
your guest. Three days ago I heard of your distress and devotion to
the venerable Abbe de----"
"Hush!" Sister Agathe cried, in the simplicity of her heart, as she
laid her finger on her lips.
"You see, Sisters, that if I had conceived the horrible idea of
betraying you, I could have given you up already, more than once----"
At the words the priest came out of his hiding-place and stood in
their midst.
"I cannot believe, monsieur, that you can be one of our persecutors,"
he said, addressing the stranger, "and I trust you. What do you want
with me?"
The priest's holy confidence, the nobleness expressed in every line in
his face, would have disarmed a murderer. For a moment the mysterious
stranger, who had brought an element of excitement into lives of
misery and resignation, gazed at the little group; then he turned to
the priest and said, as if making a confidence, "Father, I came to beg
you to celebrate a mass for the repose of the soul of--of--of an
august personage whose body will never rest in consecrated earth----"
Involuntarily the abbe shivered.
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