Paul related to him all that had occurred.
“Eternal Providence!” cried the old man, when Paul had concluded his recital, “how hidden and inevitable are thy decrees. Thou, who, after twenty years, hast conducted this youth to the cradle of his infancy, and hast killed the assassin of the father, by the mere aspect of the son!”
“Yes, yes, thus it happens,” replied Paul, “and it is Providence, also, who conducts me to you, that I might save you. For I heard them refuse to send you the physician and the priest.”
“According to common justice,” rejoined Achard, “they might have made a fair division. The marquis, who fears death, might have retained the physician, while to me who am tired of life, they might have sent the priest.”
“I can go on horseback,” said Paul, “and in less than an hour—”
“In an hour it would be too late,” said the dying man, in an enfeebled voice, “a priest! a priest only—I ask but for a priest.”
“Father,” replied Paul, “in his sacred functions, I know I cannot supply his place; but we can speak of God, of his greatness and his goodness.”
“Yes, but let us first finish with the things of this earth, that we may then be able to turn our thoughts wholly to those of heaven. You say that, like myself, the marquis is dying.”
“I left him at the last agony.”
“You know, that immediately after his death, the papers which are deposited in that closet, and which prove your birth, are yours by right.”