The priest turned pale and trembled. He tried in vain to rise, his knees seemed nailed to the ground.
"Ah! my child, did you not hear a divine voice answer me?"
But helping him to his feet, Gilbert said with a sad smile:
"There is nothing divine in that voice. It has a strongly-marked Provencal accent, and if I am not mistaken, it belongs to Jasmin the cook, who is there in the court with a lantern in his hand, and is calling you."
"Perhaps you are right," answered the good father, shaking his head and passing his hand over his forehead, which was bathed in perspiration. "Let us see what this good Jasmin wants. Perhaps he brings my dinner. I had notified him, however, that I proposed to fast to-day."
Jasmin no sooner saw them come out of the chapel than he ran towards them and said to the priest:
"I don't know, father, what has happened to Ivan, but when I went into his room to carry him his dinner, I found him stretched on his bed. I called him and shook him, but couldn't wake him up."
A shudder ran through Gilbert's whole body. Seizing the lantern from Jasmin he darted off on a run; in two seconds he was with Ivan. Jasmin had told the truth; the serf slept heavily and profoundly. By dint of pulling him by the arm, Gilbert succeeded in making him open his eyes; but he soon closed them again, turned towards the wall, and slept on.
"Someone must have given him a narcotic," said Gilbert, whispering to Father Alexis who had just joined him.
And addressing Jasmin, who had followed the priest.