Jesuit Morlet and his god-son, little Rodin, had been taken in due course before the Provost, and the reverend fellow was now awaiting the hour of his execution, which was set for sun-up. The cord which bound his arms was fastened to a post of the cart-shed that served as shelter for the Grand Provost's mounted police; at the foot of the post the Jesuit lay huddled. Too case-hardened not to face death with a certain degree of calm, he said to his god-son:
"I have no chance of escaping death. I shall be shot at break of day. Here ends my career."
"You will soon be with the angels," dryly responded little Rodin, who now seemed strangely to have recovered both speech and hearing.
"Poor little one! My beloved son, you are, are you not, very sad at my approaching death?"
"You are an elect of the Lord, predestined to glory, and you will sit at His right side through eternity. Hosannah in excelsis! On the contrary, I rejoice in your martyrdom."
"So young, and already devoid of affection!" muttered the Jesuit to himself. "Are you not grieved at the idea of being left behind and forsaken by my death?"
"The Lord God will watch over His servant, as He watches over the birds of the air. He provides for all."
"Listen, dear child; when God has called me to Him, go you to Rome, to the General of the Order. God will perform the rest."
"I shall go to Rome; your recommendations will be precisely followed, dear god-father; I shall serve the holy cause of God."
As little Rodin concluded these words, a courier came up and said to the cavalryman on picket duty before the Jesuit and his god-son: "Comrade, can you show me to the quarters of Citizen General Donadieu? I have a message for him."