e for more than a very few halting words the
bell was rung by Francois.

"'What's that for, Father?' the stranger said, with a start, which
showed that his nerves were shattered.

"'It is time for your meal,' I answered.

"'One must eat!' he said. Then, as if conscious that he was behaving
oddly, he added politely:

"'I know you entertain us too well here, and have sometimes been
rewarded with coarse ingratitude. Where do I go?'

"I showed him into the parlour. There was no one there that day. He sat
at the long table.

"'I am to eat alone?' he asked.

"'Yes; I will serve you.'

"Francois, always waited on the guests, but that day--mindful of the
selfishness of my thoughts in the garden--I resolved to add to my
duties. I therefore brought the soup, the lentils, the omelette, the
oranges, poured out the wine, and urged the young man cordially to
eat. When I did so he looked up at me. His eyes were extraordinarily
expressive. It was as if I heard them say to me, 'Why, I like you!' and
as if, just for a moment, his grief were lessened.

"In the empty parlour, long, clean, bare, with a crucifix on the wall
and the name 'Saint Bernard' above the door, it was very quiet, very
shady. The outer blinds of green wood were drawn over the window-spaces,
shutting out the gold of the garden. But its murmuring tranquillity
seemed to filter in, as if the flowers, the insects, the birds were
aware of our presence and were trying to say to us, 'Are you happy as we
are? Be happy as we are.'

"The stranger looked at the shady room, the open windows. He sighed.

"'How quiet it is here!' he said, almost as if to himself. 'How quiet it
is!'

"'Yes,' I answered. 'Summer is beginning. For months now scarcely anyone
will come to us here.'

"'Us?' he said, glancing at me with a sudden smile.

"'I meant to us who are monks, who live always here.'

"'May I--is it indiscreet to ask if you have been here long?'

"I told him.

"'More than nineteen years!' he said.

"'Yes.'

"'And always in this silence?'

"He sat as if listening, resting his head on his hand.

"'How extraordinary!' he said at last. 'How wonderful! Is it happiness?'

"I did not answer. The question seemed to me to be addressed to himself,
not to me. I could leave him to seek for the answer. After a moment he
went on eating and drinking in silence. When he had finished I asked him
whether he would take coffee. He said he would, and I made him pass
into the