“Ah! parbleu,” exclaimed he aloud—“is it so? Practising a little 'Contrebande' of his own—trying to see a poor fellow safe over the frontier, into the next world.”
“Fie for shame, Captain Jacques,” said Mary, with pious horror. “That's not the way to talk of the holy offices.”
“I wish I had old Maurice Dulang here, the priest of Trois Rivières, he's the boy could despatch them without trouble.”
Neither Lanty nor Mary gave any encouragement to Flahault's new turn of the conversation, and so, addressing himself to Talbot, he went on—
“We were dining together one day, at the little inn at Trois Rivières, when a messenger came from Lachégon, for the Père to administer the last rites to a 'mourant.' Maurice promised to be there in half-an-hour, but never stirred—and though three other messengers came for him, the answer was all the same—until, at last came word, 'Cest trop tard, il est mort.'
“'Trop tard!' said Maurice, 'not a bit of it; give me a pen and ink, and some paper.' With that he folded a piece, note fashion, and wrote—
“'Mon cher Pierre—Fais ton petit possible pour cet pauvre diable, qui s'est glissé hors du monde sans mes soins. Apparement il était bien pressé; mais tu l'arrangera pour le mieux.
“'Ton viel ami.'
“'Maurice Dulang. “'St. Pierre, à la Conciergerie au Paradis.'
“'Put that in his mouth,' said Maurice, 'and there's no fear of him.'”