CHAPTER XIII
PIERRE TAKES THE HELM
Silently Pierre received the news. He neither trembled nor cried out. In a vague way he realized that ever since that day long ago when Henri St. Amant had first presented this possibility to his mind he had unconsciously been bracing himself to meet with courage some such emergency. And now the blow had fallen, and it was he who must break the news to his mother, and be the strong prop on which she might lean. So busy was he with these thoughts that he scarcely sensed the presence of the faithful old priest who walked beside him. A score of confused reveries were surging over the boy, and out of the chaos of grief, reminiscence, and wonder, clearer ideas began to form themselves.
"We must sell the place," he declared, thinking aloud. "That will give us some ready money to start on."
"I, too, think that might be well."
It was the quiet voice of Monsieur le Curé.
"Forgive me, Father," said the lad. "I had forgotten——"
"Do not reproach yourself, my son," replied the priest gently. "I did not accompany you to be a burden in your sorrow—only that I might help if I could."
He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.