"You see, Sisters, that if I had conceived the horrible idea of
betraying you, I could have given you up already, more than once----"

At the words the priest came out of his hiding-place and stood in
their midst.

"I cannot believe, monsieur, that you can be one of our persecutors,"
he said, addressing the stranger, "and I trust you. What do you want
with me?"

The priest's holy confidence, the nobleness expressed in every line in
his face, would have disarmed a murderer. For a moment the mysterious
stranger, who had brought an element of excitement into lives of
misery and resignation, gazed at the little group; then he turned to
the priest and said, as if making a confidence, "Father, I came to beg
you to celebrate a mass for the repose of the soul of--of--of an
august personage whose body will never rest in consecrated earth----"

Involuntarily the abbe shivered. As yet, neither of the Sisters
understood of whom the stranger was speaking; they sat with their
heads stretched out and faces turned towards the speaker, curiosity in
their whole attitude. The priest meanwhile, was scrutinizing the
stranger; there was no mistaking the anxiety in the man's face, the
ardent entreaty in his eyes.

"Very well," returned the abbe. "Come back at midnight. I shall be
ready to celebrate the only funeral service that it is in our power to
offer in expiation of the crime of which you speak."