"You have," replied the boy; "I am your soul."
And Monsieur l'Abbé smiled in his sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MONSIEUR L'ABBÉ PICOT GOES UPON A JOURNEY
As Monsieur l'Abbé Picot's illness grew and he became largely unconscious as to what was going on about him, the more closely Nance confined herself to nursing. Because of many urgent calls I was forced to be away from them more than I liked, but old Doctor Longstreet spent many hours of each day reading in the library, adjoining the bedroom, in case he should be needed. But dear little Nance, whose face became thin and whose eyes grew large with watching, scarcely left her patient.
Then there came the day when old Prosper went across the river in a small skiff to a neighboring city a few miles away, returning two hours later with the parish priest. He was an old man of delicate frame, with the thoughtful, patient cast of countenance of the student. After the confession, upon his return to the library, his face wore a very gentle and peaceful expression. I have wondered at the strange words he must have heard. He came from a charge whose sins were doubtless exceedingly commonplace. Was there any rare and startling tale stirring his heart? What were the struggles and experiences of the soul of this adventurous brother of St. Francis of Assisi? If there was anything to startle, it could be guessed only from the preoccupied manner in which he sat looking into the fire with eyes which, when you caught them, were brimming with wonder and with tears. The three of us, though no words were then or ever spoken, shared with profound sympathy a common sorrow, which we alone fully understood.
"I shall remain with you," he said. We nodded our approval, his being the only words spoken.
All night long we kept a prayerful vigil beside the troubled bed of Monsieur l'Abbé. For hours I leaned above him in the darkened room, lit only by the firelight, giving him what assistance and relief lay in my power. Nance, at the east window, gazed out into the impenetrable darkness. For hours at a time she stood and looked as into space and without so much as moving. Now and then she came to my side and raised questioning eyes to my face. Upon shaking my head she would return to her place, like a sentinel upon duty. At last, when the gray dawn shone ghastly and ugly over the snow-covered landscape, my patient appeared to grow easier and from a restless suffering night he sank into a very gentle sleep. I closed the curtains about his bed and, stealing softly across the floor, stood beside Nance.