She said the word again, and as if she felt its meaning more acutely each time she spoke it.
“After twenty years to go!” she added after a moment. “And was there no reason, no—no excuse—no, I don’t mean excuse! But had nothing exceptional happened?”
“What exceptional thing can happen in a Trappist monastery?” said the priest. “One day is exactly like another there, and one year exactly like another.”
“Was it long ago?”
“No, not very long. Only some months. Oh, perhaps it may be a year by now, but not more. Poor fellow! I suppose he was a man who didn’t know himself, Madame, and the devil tempted him.”
“But after twenty years!” said Domini.
The thing seemed to her almost incredible.
“That man must be in hell now,” she added. “In the hell a man can make for himself by his own act. Oh, here is my husband.”
Androvsky stood in the tent door, looking in upon them with startled, scrutinising eyes. He had come over the deep sand without noise. Neither Domini nor the priest had heard a footstep. The priest got up from his chair and bowed genially.
“Good-evening, Monsieur,” he said, not waiting for any introduction. “I am the Aumonier of Amara, and——”