‘Ah! here he comes at last,’ he said, as he heard the door opening. And stepping towards the Abbé he went on: ‘Do you know that you made me listen to half a mass? It is a very long time since that happened to me. But I was bent on seeing you to-day. I have something to say to you.’
Then he stopped, and looked at the priest with an expression of surprise. Silence fell. ‘You at all events are quite well,’ he resumed, in a different voice.
‘Yes, I am very much better than I was,’ replied Abbé Mouret, with a smile. ‘I did not expect you before Thursday. Sunday isn’t your day for coming. Is there something you want to tell me?’
Uncle Pascal did not give an immediate answer. He went on looking at the Abbé. The latter was still fresh from the influence of the church and the mass. His hair was fragrant with the perfume of the incense, and in his eyes shone all the joy of the Cross. His uncle jogged his head, as he noticed that expression of triumphant peace.
‘I have come from the Paradou,’ he said, abruptly. ‘Jeanbernat came to fetch me there. I have seen Albine, and she disquiets me. She needs much careful treatment.’
He kept his eyes fixed upon the priest as he spoke, but he did not detect so much as a quiver of Serge’s eyelids.
‘She took great care of you, you know,’ he added, more roughly. ‘Without her, my boy, you might now be in one of the cells at Les Tulettes, with a strait waistcoat on.... Well, I promised that you would go to see her. I will take you with me. It will be a farewell meeting. She is anxious to go away.’
‘I can do nothing more than pray for the person of whom you speak,’ said Abbé Mouret, softly.
And as the doctor, losing his temper, brought his stick down heavily upon the couch, he added calmly, but in a firm voice:
‘I am a priest, and can only help with prayers.’