When some disgruntled man saw fit to grumble about the waste of money, one of the nurses, a big, brawny Irish laborer, promptly knocked him down, accompanying his blow with the startling scriptural reference:
"An' did ye niver hear of the allibister box, ye Dutch pig?"
As I have written, it was a week later when they discovered that he had not eaten his portion of food for many days. Watching him, they found that he conveyed it secretly to certain children whose mothers and fathers had died of the fever. When they confronted him with his neglect of himself, he lied.
"Lied like a gentleman, this little St. Jacques," said the Captain, who knew.
It was no use to remonstrate. He came to give his life and he was giving it. Who would dare to say this was not his privilege? And he had remained faithfully until the blessed cold had come and hell had withdrawn her flaming despair.
That is how, my friends, Monsieur l'Abbé Picot proved his heart.