"That silence is scarce less than a curse," said the marquis.
Still Brother Jacques's tongue refused its offices.
"Ah, well, I brought you into the world carelessly, you have cursed me out of it. We are quits. Begone!" There was dignity in his gesture toward the door.
Brother Jacques did not stir.
"Begone, I say, and let me die in peace."
"I will give you absolution, father."
The fierce, burning eyes seemed to search into Brother Jacques's soul. There was on that proud face neither fear nor horror. And this was the hour Brother Jacques had planned and waited for! For this moment he had donned the robes, isolated himself, taken vows, suffered physical tortures! He had come to curse: he was offering absolution.
"Hypocrite, begone!" cried the marquis, seized with vertigo. He tried to strike the bell, but the effort merely sent it jangling to the floor. "Begone!"
"Monsieur!"
"Must I call for help?"