well.

On returning to the bedside, Pierre found his brother still sitting up
and seeking fresh energy in his desire to write home and tranquillise his
loved ones. So the priest, after providing pen and paper, again had to
take up the lamp and light him. Guillaume fortunately retained full use
of his right hand, and was thus able to pen a few lines to say that he
would not be home that night. He addressed the note to Madame Leroi, the
mother of his deceased mistress, who, since the latter's death, had
remained with him and had reared his three sons. Pierre was aware also
that the household at Montmartre included a young woman of five or six
and twenty, the daughter of an old friend, to whom Guillaume had given
shelter on her father's death, and whom he was soon to marry, in spite of
the great difference in their ages. For the priest, however, all these
were vague, disturbing things, condemnable features of disorderly life,
and he had invariably pretended to be ignorant of them.

"So you wish this note to be taken to Montmartre at once?" he said to his
brother.

"Yes, at once. It is scarcely more than seven o'clock now, and it will be
there by eight. And you will choose a reliable man, won't you?"

"The best course will be for Sophie to take a cab. We need have no fear
with her. She won't chatter. Wait a moment, and I will settle
everything."

Sophie, on being summoned, at once understood what was wanted of her, and
promised to say, in reply to any questions, that M. Guillaume had come to
spend the night at his brother's, for reasons which she did not know. And