She would rest in the deep sweet peace of death, and that monster of
iron and fire and the frantic dead about her are tormenting a soul so
tormented in life. There may be rest for her in the vault behind the
castle, but not here. I know, and I shall do my duty--now, at once."

He gathered his robes about him and ran as fast as his old legs and
rheumatic feet would take him towards the château, whose lights gleamed
through the rain. On the bank of the river he met a fisherman and begged
to be taken by boat. The fisherman wondered, but picked the priest up in
his strong arms, lowered him into the boat, and rowed swiftly towards
the château. When they landed he made fast.

"I will wait for you in the kitchen, my father," he said; and the priest
blessed him and hurried up to the castle.

Once more he entered through the door of the great kitchen, with its
blue tiles, its glittering brass and bronze warming-pans which had
comforted nobles and monarchs in the days of Croisac splendor. He sank
into a chair beside the stove while a maid hastened to the count. She
returned while the priest was still shivering, and announced that her
master would see his holy visitor in the library.

It was a dreary room where the count sat waiting for the priest, and it
smelled of musty calf, for the books on the shelves were old. A few
novels and newspapers lay on the heavy table, a fire burned on the
andirons, but the paper on the wall was very dark and the fleurs-de-lis
were tarnished and dull. The count, when at home, divided his time
between this library and the water, when he could not chase the boar or
the stag in the forests. But he often went to Paris, where he could
afford the life of a bachelor in a wing of his great hotel; he had known