"No," replied Aaron, "we do not proselytize, and even if we did you are too good a Christian for me to wish to make you a Jew."
This was one of the puzzling remarks which caused the curé to ponder and which dwelt long in his mind; sometimes he thought that Aaron was a man of deep subtlety, sometimes that he was a man of great simplicity, but whether subtle or simple he felt it impossible to withhold a full measure of respect from one whose eternal lot he sighed to think was perdition and everlasting torment.
That sincerity was the true test of faith, as Aaron declared, he would not admit; there could be no sincerity in a faith that was false, there could be no sincerity if you did not believe as he believed. Nevertheless he had an uncomfortable impression that he was being continually worsted in the peaceful war of words in which they invariably engaged when they came together.
As Aaron was not to be turned from his resolution to leave the country the villagers took steps to show their respect for him. Public meetings were held, which were attended by many persons from surrounding districts, and there was a banquet, of which Aaron did not partake, the food not being cooked after the Jewish mode. He contented himself with fruit and bread, and made a good and sufficient meal. Speeches were made in his honor, and he was held up as an example to old and young alike.
His response was in admirable taste. He said that the years he had spent among them were the happiest in his life, and that it was with true regret he found himself compelled to leave the village. He spoke of his first coming among them with a beloved wife in a delicate state of health, who had grown well and strong in the beautiful spot. It was not alone the sweet air, he said, which had brought the blessing of health to her; the bond of sympathy which had been established between her and her neighbors had been as a spiritual medicine to her, which had given life a value of which it would otherwise have been deprived.
It was not so much the material reward of our labors that conferred happiness upon us as the feeling that we were passing our days among friends who always had a smile and a pleasant greeting for us. Riches were perishable, kindly remembrances immortal.
The best lessons of life were to be learned from the performance of simple acts of duty, for he regarded it a duty to so conduct ourselves as to make our presence welcome and agreeable to those with whom we were in daily association. As for the kind things that had been said of him, he felt that he was scarcely worthy of them.
"There is," he said, "a leaven of human selfishness in all that we do, and the little I have, with the blessing of God, been enabled to do has conferred upon me a much greater pleasure than it could possibly have conferred upon others. To you and to my residence among you I owe my dear wife's restoration to health, and it would be ingratitude indeed did I not endeavor to make some return for the good you have showered upon me. I shall never forget you, nor will my wife forget you; in our native land we shall constantly recall the happy years we spent among you, and we shall constantly pray that peace and prosperity may never desert you."
The earnestness and feeling with which these sentiments were uttered were unmistakable and convincing, and when Aaron resumed his seat the eyes of all who had assembled to do him honor were turned upon him approvingly and sympathizingly.
"Ah," groaned the good curé, "were he not a Jew he would be a perfect man."