“Well, how is your son getting on?”
“Not so bad, Monsieur le Cure; I had a letter from him yesterday. He does not complain; he is very well; only he says there are no Kroomirs. Poor boy! I have been saving for a month, and I think I shall soon be able to send him ten francs.”
“You shall send him thirty francs. Take this.”
“Thirty francs! Monsieur le Cure, you give me thirty francs?”
“Yes, that is for you.”
“For my boy?”
“For your boy. But listen; you must know from whom it comes, and you must take care to tell your son when you write to him.”
Again the little speech about the new owners of Longueval, and again the adjuration to remember them in their prayers. At six o’clock he returned home, exhausted with fatigue, but with his soul filled with joy.
“I have given away all,” he cried, as soon as he saw Pauline, “all! all! all!”
He dined, and then went in the evening to perform the usual service for the month of Mary. But this time, the harmonium was silent; Miss Percival was no longer there.