“The vintage is finished,” he said, “and more abundant than I had hoped for; now let’s go and help that poor fellow.”
I conducted him to my master’s bedside and we left him alone with the dying.
An hour later he came out again and said:
“I can assure you that M. Jérôme Coignard dies in admirable sentiments of piety and humility. At his request, and in consideration of his fervour, I’ll give him the viaticum. During the time necessary for putting on my holy garments, you, Madame Coquebert, will do me the favour to send to the vestry the boy who serves me at mass every morning and make the room ready for the reception of God.”
Madame Coquebert swept the room, put a white coverlet on the bed, placed a little table at the bedside, and covered it with a cloth; she put two candlesticks on the table and lit the candles, and an earthenware bowl wherein a sprig of box swam in the holy water.
Soon we heard the tinkling of the little bell, saw the cross coming in, carried by a child, and the priest clad in white carrying the holy vessels. Jahel, M. d’Anquetil, Madame Coquebert and I fell on our knees.
“Pax huic domui,” said the priest.
“Et omnibus habiantibus in en,” replied the servitor.
Then the vicar took holy water and sprayed it over the patient and the bed.
A moment longer he meditated and then he said with much solemnity: