“Maybe you think he bargained with me, maybe to you it seems a high price to pay even to him who had saved Mont César—the price of a procession once a year for one hundred years and a chant of remembrance. But no, monsieur, it was not excessive, that price. It was God who demanded it—not he. It was God who willed that he should save Mont César, that he should disobey, that he should be led out in disgrace to die, and that his memory should be held accurst by all but his enemies—by all save the monks of Mont César. Was it, then, so great a thing he asked? I had vowed: I must keep my vow. I bent my head in prayer, and in an instant I was answered. Monsieur, I promised! I would grant that strange wish!
“‘Tell me, Herr monk, what will you sing?’ he begged. ‘Tell me in Latin, just as you will sing it.’
“And I, slowly seeking for the words, began to speak those which you have heard to-night in the halls of Mont César: ‘Primo anno magni belli, sub bono rege Alberto, praefectus Mahnius——’
“‘That means Lieutenant Mahn?’ he asked with eagerness.
“‘Yes. Praefectus Mahnius monasterium montis Caesarii ab exitio servavit—laus Deo!’
“‘Sing it for me,’ he entreated when I was done. And I slowly chanted the words. ‘Teach it to me.’
“Slowly, very slowly I repeated the words again and again and again; and ‘... ab exitio servavit, laus Deo!’ he recited after me.
“How shall I tell you the end, monsieur? There were loud footfalls in the corridor and the door resounded to heavy blows!
“‘They have come for me, Herr monk,’ the officer whispered. ‘Good-bye. I am a dead man. Primo anno magni belli—those are the words?... Herein!’ he called confidently.