“Monseigneur is ignorant of the state of my health; he does not know that in a constitution like mine nature refuses—” said Monsieur Bonnet, looking at the younger priest.
“There are times when we ought, like Belzunce at Marseille, to risk certain death,” replied the Abbe Gabriel, interrupting him.
At this moment the rector felt a hand pulling at his cassock; he heard sobs, and turning round he saw the whole family kneeling before him. Young and old, small and great, all were stretching their supplicating hands to him. One sole cry rose from their lips as he turned his face upon them:—
“Save his soul, at least!”
The old grandmother it was who had pulled his cassock and was wetting it with her tears.
“I shall obey, monsieur.”
That said, the rector was forced to sit down, for his legs trembled under him. The young secretary explained the frenzied state of the criminal’s mind.
“Do you think,” he said, as he ended his account, “that the sight of his young sister would shake his determination?”
“Yes, I do,” replied the rector. “Denise, you must go with us.”
“And I, too,” said the mother.