As yet, neither of the Sisters
understood of whom the stranger was speaking; they sat with their
heads stretched out and faces turned towards the speaker, curiosity in
their whole attitude. The priest meanwhile, was scrutinizing the
stranger; there was no mistaking the anxiety in the man's face, the
ardent entreaty in his eyes.
"Very well," returned the abbe. "Come back at midnight. I shall be
ready to celebrate the only funeral service that it is in our power to
offer in expiation of the crime of which you speak."
A quiver ran through the stranger, but a sweet yet sober satisfaction
seemed to prevail over a hidden anguish. He took his leave
respectfully, and the three generous souls felt his unspoken
gratitude.
Two hours later, he came back and tapped at the garret door.
Mademoiselle de Beauseant showed the way into the second room of their
humble lodging. Everything had been made ready. The Sisters had moved
the old chest of drawers between the two chimneys, and covered its
quaint outlines over with a splendid altar cloth of green watered
silk.
The bare walls looked all the barer, because the one thing that hung
there was the great ivory and ebony crucifix, which of necessity
attracted the eyes. Four slender little altar candles, which the
Sisters had contrived to fasten into their places with sealing-wax,
gave a faint, pale light, almost absorbed by the walls; the rest of
the room lay well-nigh in the dark.
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