He then turned round with a look of concentrated rage it would be impossible to describe, seized his chain with both hands, and collecting all his strength for the effort, he strove to break it; but the links were too firmly-attached to each other and resisted all his efforts.
The cold perspiration of rage stood on his forehead; he threw himself at the foot of the pillar, placed his head in his hands, and remained motionless and mute as the statue of despair; and when the priest came in the morning he found him still in the same position.
The reverend man approached him quietly and calmly, as became his mission of peace and his office as a minister of reconciliation. He thought that Pascal slept, but when he placed his hand upon his shoulder, the bandit started and raised his head.
“Well, my son,” said the priest, “are you prepared for confession? I am ready to absolve you?”
“I will answer you presently, father; but first render me a last service,” said Bruno.
“What is it?” said the priest. “Speak!”
“Father,” said Bruno, “will you raise the corner of the cloth that hides the features of that woman?”
The priest raised the corner of the winding-sheet. Pascal had not deceived himself, that woman was Teresa!
He looked upon her for an instant with the deepest sorrow, and then made a sign to the priest to let the linen fall: the priest obeyed him.
“Well, my son,” he said, “has the sight of death inspired you with any pious thoughts?”