"You wish to confess and take the communion too, do you not, papa?"
"Why yes; one doesn't wish to take the old rubbish when starting on the great journey. We don't carry our soiled linen with us when we travel. I have much on my conscience, Magdalena--my child--most of all, sins committed against you! Don't bear your foolish old father ill-will for it."
"No, father, I swear it by the memory of this hour!"
"And your husband"--he shook his head--"he is not here; it's a pity!"
Then he said no more but lay quietly, absorbed in his own thoughts, till the priest came.
Madeleine withdrew during the confession. What was passing in her mind during that hour she herself could not understand. She only knew that her father's inquiry in his dying hour for his despised, disowned son-in-law was the keenest reproach which had been addressed to her.
The sacred ceremony was over, and the priest had left the house.
The sick man lay with a calm, pleasant expression on his face, which had never rested there before. Madeleine sat down by the bed and took his hand; he gratefully returned her gentle pressure.
"How do you feel, dear father?" she asked gently.
"Very comfortable, dear child."