‘If you thought I could help you in your trouble, should you have any objection to telling me the officer’s name?’
Maria was so much surprised that she did not answer at once. In all her experience of confessors—and her life had brought her to many—none had ever inquired the name of any person she spoke of.
‘Not yours,’ the monk added, before she spoke. ‘I do not know who you are, and I never shall try to find out. But if you will tell me the name of the officer, I think I can help you, provided you will trust me. I cannot advise you to send money to the thief, any more than I can suggest any other plan of action for you. I can only offer my own help.’
‘But what can you do?’ Maria asked in a puzzled tone.
‘Have you finished your confession?’
‘Yes.’
‘Say the Act of Contrition.’
Maria obeyed, and immediately the monk pronounced the words of absolution. When all was finished, and after a short pause, he spoke again.
‘This matter on which you have consulted me has nothing to do with the confessional,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would like to go and sit down quietly for a few minutes and think it over. I will wait in the chapel, by the door of the sacristy. If you decide to trust me, come back and tell me the officer’s name and give me some address where I may find him, for I must see him alone. If you decide not to do this, you need only leave the church without coming back to me. I shall understand.’