"Bourgeat, my second father, died in my arms," Desplein went on, after a
pause, visibly moved. "He left me everything he possessed by a will he
had had made by a public scrivener, dating from the year when we had
gone to live in the Cour de Rohan.

"This man's faith was perfect; he loved the Holy Virgin as he might have
loved his wife. He was an ardent Catholic, but never said a word to me
about my want of religion. When he was dying he entreated me to spare no
expense that he might have every possible benefit of clergy. I had a
mass said for him every day. Often, in the night, he would tell me of
his fears as to his future fate; he feared his life had not been saintly
enough. Poor man! he was at work from morning till night. For whom,
then, is Paradise--if there be a Paradise? He received the last
sacrament like the saint that he was, and his death was worthy of his
life.

"I alone followed him to the grave. When I had laid my only benefactor
to rest, I looked about to see how I could pay my debt to him; I found
he had neither family nor friends, neither wife nor child. But he
believed. He had a religious conviction; had I any right to dispute it?
He had spoken to me timidly of masses said for the repose of the dead;
he would not impress it on me as a duty, thinking that it would be a
form of repayment for his services. As soon as I had money enough I paid
to Saint-Sulpice the requisite sum for four masses every year. As the
only thing I can do for Bourgeat is thus to satisfy his pious wishes, on
the days when that mass is said, at the beginning of each season of the
year, I go for his sake and say the required prayers; and I say with the
good faith of a sceptic--'Great God, if there is a sphere which Thou
hast appointed after death for those who have been perfect, remember
good Bourgeat; and if he should have anything to suffer, let me suffer