As if in answer to his prayer came the sounds of footsteps in the atelier, and Dodor moved restlessly in his cage as the door was cautiously opened. It was a priest whom the deaf concierge had sent for after inquiring of Dr. Fénélon the state of his patient.
He was an elderly man with a large stomach and a kind, sweet face. Garnier glanced at him, and threw up his eyes, as if to say “No use,” but he felt glad of the presence of the holy man.
The priest took a chair on the opposite side of the bed, as if to rest his stomach for a moment, and breathed hard and pursed out his lips; then he knelt by the chair to pray. Garnier, kneeling by his side of the bed, was as still as the effigy of the Lord Jesus which hung above. And so the time went on, Célestin rousing herself occasionally to call for Toto, and relapsing into stupor. Once she cast her eyes at the bird moping in its cage, and moved her lips at it, as if trying to tell it of her trouble.
It was now late in the afternoon. To Garnier it seemed a very long time since, stopping near the Panthéon, he had bought the grapes for his little Célestin, and brought them so joyously to the atelier. His hearing, strained to the utmost for the footsteps of Toto, was rewarded by all sorts of futile sounds, far away and near.
At five Dr. Fénélon looked in again, and found his patient unconscious. He shook his head and vanished, for Garnier did not attempt to detain him; he had lost all faith in doctors.
“But who is this Désiré she has been calling for?” whispered the good priest, leaning towards Garnier. “Could we not send for him?”
Garnier shook his head. He had gone out with Gaillard—where he could not tell.
Towards six, Célestin, still unconscious, gave a little shiver, as if at the coldness of her lover, and Dodor in the cage fluttered his wings as if in fear.
The priest, who had been standing patiently, fell upon his knees, and prayed with fervor for the passing soul.