"Who art thou, who breakest through my prayers?" cried the voice of the hermit. "And why fearest thou the going of the moon? Thou wilt not be one jot wiser when she is gone?"
"Nay! 'tis I, brother Bernard," replied the traveller, fretting with impatience to get in. "'Tis I, I tell thee, man! Thy friend and fellow-labourer in this poor vineyard of France!"
"I have no friend but the Lord, and his holy saints," said the hermit, opening the door.--"But how is this, lord bishop?
"Hush! hush!" cried the other, holding up his hand. "Do not let the boy hear thee!--I come in secret, upon matters of deep import."
"Does not the text say, 'That which thou doest in secret shall be proclaimed openly?'" demanded the hermit.--"But what dost thou mean to do with the boy?" continued he, laying his hand on the child's head. "If he be as terrified as thou seemest to be, he will not love to stay till thine errand with me is done."
"Oh, I fear not, father," said the youth. "I am forest bred; and nothing evil would come within sight of thy dwelling."
"Well, poor lad!" said the hermit. "Sit there by the door; and if aught scares thee, push it open, and come in."
The boy accordingly seated himself by the door, which was shut upon him; and the hermit pointed to a place on his bed of straw and moss for the bishop's seat. If it had any distinction, 'twas solely that of being situated beneath the crucifix, under which a small lamp was burning, giving the only light which the cell possessed.
The good prelate--for such he was--cast himself upon the moss, and stretching forth his hands on his broad fat knees, employed no inconsiderable space of time in cooling himself, and recovering his breath, after the bodily fear and exertion he had undergone. The hermit seated himself also; and waited, in grave silence, the communication, whatever it was, that brought so respectable a dignitary of the church as the bishop of Paris to his cell at so unsuitable an hour.
"The Lord be merciful unto me!" cried the bishop, after a long pause. "What perils and dangers have I not run this very night, for the service of the church, and the poor Christian souls of the French people, who are now crying for the rites and ceremonies of the church, as the tribes of Israel cried for flesh in the desert!"