"I do not know," he repeated, "It seems different. You are a heretic, yet—I do not know. God's wonders strange—I do not know—-"
"Who does?" I asked,
He shook his head.
"I used to be sure," he said, more to himself than to me. "But—I do not know. I was reconciled to death. I had no fear of the torment. I hoped to move these people at the end. And now you say that they respect me, that I am free, I may do as I will."
"Yes."
"It is too much for me to decide, Monsieur Ormerod. Perhaps I grow weak. Well, we shall see. But I think it is as you say! I have been given a second opportunity to woo them for Christ. God's wonders—how strange! How impossible to comprehend! And you a heretic, the companion of a savage! It baffles me."
He paused suddenly.
"You spoke to me first?" he questioned. "There was—no other?"
"None."
"Strange!" he muttered to himself again. "Gaston—I thought I heard—the garden at Morbouil! Ah, Maman, Maman! So many, many years!"