"Come! Which one do you want? 'The Host'? 'The Three Kings'? or 'Saint Joseph Said to Me'?"
"No. I love better 'The Shepherds.' The one we always sang at home."
"'The Shepherds' let it be." In a low voice, his head between the curtains, Salvette begins to hum. But suddenly, as he sings the last couplet, where the shepherds, coming to see Jesus in his stable, have laid their offerings of fresh eggs and cheese in the manger, and are dismissed in kindly fashion:—
"Joseph leur dit: Allons I soyez bien sages,
Tournez-vous-en et faites bon voyage.
Bergers,
Prenez votre congé, ..."
poor Bernadou slips and falls heavily upon his pillow. His comrade, thinking he sleeps, calls him, shakes him. But the sick man remains motionless; and the little sprig of holly across the stiff coverlet seems already the green palm that is laid on the pillow of the dead.
Salvette understands. Then, all in tears, and a little intoxicated with the feast and with so great a sorrow, he takes up again in full voice, in the silence of the ward, the joyous refrain of Provence:—
"Shepherds,