"What is heaviest upon your soul, my son?"
"A woman's fate."
"Ah."
"There were two who loved her—a dozen years ago—she preferred me—I took her away."
"Did you marry her?"
"No. And then we quarreled—I deserted her. When I came to seek her she was gone—young, innocent, penniless, alone in Paris—I have sought her and never found her."
"What is your name?" asked the priest suddenly with a fierce note in his quivering voice.
"Father, can I be forgiven?" answered the man giving his name.
The dying soldier stared anxiously up at his bandaged comrade, at the nun who had hid her face behind the shoulder of the priest. He noticed that her body was shaking.
"And the woman's name?"