Get a basket,' he said in a changed voice to the astonished servant, 'put the rest of the dinner into it. I had better take the sacrament too,' he thought, after the surprised man had left the room, 'perhaps he is dying. God is giving me another spell of grace instead of condemning me eternally.'
He struck his breast and forgot that God does not count the number of amusements preferred and bottles emptied, but the greatness of the struggle in each human heart.
CHAPTER XI
Within half an hour the priest's round ponies stood at Slimak's gate. The priest walked towards the stable with a lantern in one hand and a basket in the other, pushed open the door with his foot, and saw Slimakowa's body. Further away, on the litter, sat the peasant, shading his eyes from the light.
'Who is that?' he asked.
'It is I, your priest.'
Slimak sprang to his feet, with deep astonishment on his face. He advanced with unsteady steps to the threshold, and gazed at the priest with open mouth.
'What have you come for, your Reverence?'
'I have come to bring you the divine blessing. Put on your sheepskin, it is cold here. Have something to eat.' He unpacked the basket.
Slimak stared, touched the priest's sleeve, and suddenly fell sobbing at his feet.