dress of her order as a Sister of Charity,
sat nigh, arose and leaned over to regard him.

'No, Constance, not yet,' said he, smiling faintly, and answering
the unspoken thought that was passing in her mind; 'not yet; but very
near--very near indeed. What hour is it?'

'St. Roch has just chimed half-past seven,' replied she calmly.

'Open the window wider; there is a little air stirring.'

'No; the evening is very still, but it will be fresher by and by.'

'I shall not need it,' said he, more faintly, though with perfect calm.
'Before midnight, Constance--before midnight it will be the same to
me if it breathed a zephyr or blew a gale: where I am going it will do
neither.'

'Oh, Citizen, can I not persuade you to see the Pere Dulaque or the Cure
of St. Roch? Your minutes are few here now, and I implore you not to
waste them.'

''Tis so that I intend, my worthy friend,' said he calmly. 'Had either
of these excellent men you mention made the voyage I am now going, I
would speak to them willingly; but remember, Constance, it is a sea
without a chart.'

'Say not so in the face of that blessed Book----'

'Nay, nay, do not disturb my few moments of calm. How sweet those
flowers are! How balmy that little air that now stirs the leaves! Oh,
what a fair world it is, or rather it might be! Do not sigh so heavily,
Constance; remember what I told you yesterday; our belief is like our
loyalty--it is independent of us.'

'Let some holy man at least speak to you.'

'Why should I shock his honest faith? Why should he disturb my peace.
Know, woman,' added he, more energetically, 'that I have striven harder
to attain this same faith than ever you have done to resist a heresy.
I needed it a thousand times more than you; I 'd have done more to gain
it--clung closer to it when won too.'

'What did you do?' asked she boldly.

'I read, reflected, pondered years long--disputed, discussed, read
more--inquired wherever I hoped to meet enlightenment.'

'You never prayed,' said she meekly.

'Prayed! How should I--not knowing for what, or to whom?'

An exclamation--almost a cry--escaped the woman, and her lips were seen
to move rapidly, as if in prayer. The sick man seemed to respect the
sentiment of devotion that he could not bring himself to feel, and was
silent. At last he said, in a voice of much sweetness, 'Your patient
care and kindness are not the less dear to me that I ascribe them to a
source your humility would reject.