"Mr. Buisson!"
She hesitated a moment, and then went forward with the same cordial gesture of her cold, white hand.
CHAPTER XI
Father Algarcife was working like a man spurred by an invisible lash. At the breaking of the cold winter dawns he might be seen on his rounds in the mission districts, which began before the early Mass, to end long after dusk, when the calls of his richer parishioners had been treated and dismissed. During the morning celebrations one of the younger priests often noticed that he appeared faint from exhaustion, and attributed it to the strain of several hours' work without nourishment.
One morning, shortly after New Year, John Ellerslie joined him and went in with him to breakfast. It was then he noticed that Father Algarcife ate only cold bread with his coffee, while he apologized for the scantiness of the fare. "It is lack of appetite with me," he explained, "not injudicious fasting;" and he turned to the maid: "Agnes, will you see that Father Ellerslie has something more substantial?" But when cakes and eggs were brought, he pushed them aside, and crumbled, without eating, his stale roll.
The younger man remonstrated, his face flushing from embarrassment.
"I am concerned for your health," he said. "Will you let me speak to Dr. Salvers?"
Father Algarcife shook his head.
"It is nothing," he answered. "But I expect to see Dr. Salvers later in the day, and I'll mention it to him."
Later in the day he did see Salvers, and as they were parting he alluded to the subject of his health.