The Moor looked at Father Elzear intently, then said, with an accent of resignation, almost of indifference:
“Shall I have, then, to suffer so much?”
The priest, without replying to him, pressed his hands more strongly in his own, and fixed his tearful eyes on his face.
“Yet I did my duty as a slave, the best that I could possibly do. But what matters it!” said the Moor, sighing; “God will bless you, father, for not forsaking me. And when am I to suffer?”
“To-day—presently—”
“What must I do, good old father? Bear it, and bless God that he has sent you to me in this fatal moment.”
“Poor creature!” cried Father Elzear, profoundly moved by this resignation, “you do not know, alas, what you will have to suffer!”
And, with a trembling voice, the priest explained to him in a few words the nature of the suffering he was to endure.
The Moor shuddered a little, and said: “At least, my wife and child will know nothing of it.”
At this moment the captain of the mast and four soldiers, wearing cassocks of black felt with white crosses, approached the bench to which the Moor was chained.