"On this point," said the abbe, "I neither wish nor ought to say
anything; for you know that your presence here is an act of rashness and
a profanation. Go away. When they are no more (and the day cannot be far
distant), if you have any claims to this house, you may return, and
you will certainly not find me here to contest them or affirm them.
Meanwhile, as I have no knowledge of these claims, I believe I may take
upon myself to see that some respect is paid to the last hours of these
two holy people."

"Wretched man!" I said, "I do not know what prevents me from tearing you
to pieces! What abominable impulse urges you to be everlastingly turning
the dagger in my breast? Are you afraid that I may survive this blow?
Cannot you see that three coffins will be taken out together from this
house? do you imagine that I have come here for aught but a farewell
look and a farewell blessing?"

"You might say a farewell pardon," replied the abbe, in a bitter tone,
and with a gesture of merciless condemnation.

"What I say is that you are mad!" I cried, "and that if you were not a
priest, this hand of mine should crush the life out of you for daring to
speak to me in this way."

"I have but little fear of you, sir," he rejoined. "To take my life
would be doing me a great service; but I am sorry that your threats and
anger should lend weight to the charges under which you lie. If I
saw that you were moved to penitence, I would weep with you; but your
assurance fills me with loathing. Hitherto, I had seen in you nothing
worse than a raging lunatic; to-day I seem to see a scoundrel. Begone,