Every head was still anxiously stretched forward. If they had only known
the man's name, the place he had come from, who he was! But it was
impossible to extract a word from this unhappy stranger, who was about to
die there, in that carriage, without anybody being able to give his face
a name!

It suddenly occurred to Sister Hyacinthe to have him searched. Under the
circumstances there could certainly be no harm in such a course. "Feel in
his pockets, Monsieur Ferrand," she said.

The doctor thereupon searched the man in a gentle, cautious way, but the
only things that he found in his pockets were a chaplet, a knife, and
three sous. And nothing more was ever learnt of the man.

At that moment, however, a voice announced that Sister Claire des Anges
was at last coming back with Father Massias. All this while the latter
had simply been chatting with the priest of Sainte-Radegonde in one of
the waiting-rooms. Keen emotion attended his arrival; for a moment all
seemed saved. But the train was about to start, the porters were already
closing the carriage doors, and it was necessary that extreme unction
should be administered in all haste in order to avoid too long a delay.

"This way, reverend Father!" exclaimed Sister Hyacinthe; "yes, yes, pray
come in; our unfortunate patient is here."

Father Massias, who was five years older than Pierre, whose
fellow-student however he had been at the seminary, had a tall, spare
figure with an ascetic countenance, framed round with a light-coloured
beard and vividly lighted up by burning eyes, He was neither the priest
harassed by doubt, nor the priest with childlike faith, but an apostle