“Do you continue to read the Bible, my little boy?”
“Yes, sir,” answered I, with a voice trembling with anxiety, for I feared that he would make another effort to take away that treasure, and I had no longer a father to defend it.
Then addressing my mother, he said:
“Madam, I told you that it was not right for you or your child to read that book.”
My mother cast down her eyes, and answered only by the tears which ran down her cheeks.
That question was followed by a long silence, and the priest then continued:
“Madam, there is something due for the prayers which have been sung, and the services which you requested to be offered for the repose of your husband’s soul. I will be very much obliged to you if you pay me that little debt.”
“Mr. Courtois,” answered my mother, “my husband left me nothing but debts. I have only the work of my own hands to procure a living for my three children, the eldest of whom is before you. For these little orphans’ sake, if not for mine, do not take from us the little that is left.”
“But, madam, you do not reflect. Your husband died suddenly and without any preparation; he is therefore in the flames of purgatory. If you want him to be delivered, you must necessarily unite your personal sacrifices to the prayers of the Church and the masses which we offer.”
“As I said, my husband has left me absolutely without means, and it is impossible for me to give you any money,” replied my mother.