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II. THE LABORERS.
There are some righteous people whose conscience is so tranquil that one cannot approach them without participating in the peace emitted, so to say, by their heart and by their language. As the hermit went on speaking, I felt the passions calm down in my bosom, and even the storm of heaven appeared to recede at his voice. The clouds were soon sufficiently dispersed to permit us to quit our retreat. We issued from the forest, and commenced climbing a high mountain. The dog walked by our side, carrying the extinguished lantern at the end of a stick.
I held Atala by the hand, and we followed the missionary. He frequently turned round to look at us, and seemed to pity our youth and our misfortunes. A book was hanging from his neck, and he leant upon a white staff. His figure was tall, his face pale and thin, and his countenance simple and sincere. His features showed that he had seen bad days, and the deep wrinkles in his forehead were the noble scars of passions overcome by virtue and by the love of God and of man. When he spoke to us standing and motionless, his long beard, his eyes modestly cast downwards, the affectionate tone of his voice, everything about him was calm and sublime. Whoever, like myself, has seen Father Aubry with his breviary and staff, on his lonely way in the desert, preserves a veritable idea of the Christian traveller upon earth.
“After half an hour’s dangerous march through the paths of the mountain, we arrived at the missionary’s grotto. We entered it over an accumulation of wet ivy and wild plants, washed down from the rocks by the rain. There was nothing in the place beyond a mat of papaya-leaves, a gourd for drawing up water, a few wooden vessels, a spade, a harmless serpent, and, upon a block of stone that served as a table, a crucifix and the Book of the Christians.