“Oh, Doctor!” protested the priest, and he raised his hands, the palms outwards, with an unction that was surprising in a soldier who arranged his putties so dapperly in corkscrew fashion from his ankles.
“Yes, you may quite well have given him the sacrament,” said M. Gilbert; “but what did he have to say in the matter?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what he could say,” interrupted Augustus, “when, as you know, for the last ten days he has been quite delirious.”
“That’s true,” remarked M. Gilbert. “What have you got to say to that, Bénezech?”
“I don’t know what to think, Doctor; but I can’t believe that a young man as well educated as Lieutenant Limberg was not a Catholic. He took the sacrament twice with me.”
“That may be; but did he tell you he was a Catholic?”
“But, Doctor, how could I insult him by asking him, especially when he was in such a sad state. Besides, he came here wearing crosses on his neck. I gave him several myself, which he willingly took.”
“Evidently there is something wrong,” said M. Gilbert. “You tell me that Limberg was a Catholic; well, we have just been told that he was Jewish. You had better send first for the rabbi of the division. Then, to make sure, send me a despatch-rider from Limberg’s battalion. We shall find out from them.”
Bénezech went out, raising his hands several times, his fingers spread apart, looking perplexed.
“Let’s go to the mortuary tent,” said M. Gilbert, getting up from the table.