erefore, wherefore, tailor-man?... Therefore, wherefore,
God?... Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!"

The devil laughing--the devil incarnate come to mock a poor tailor, to
sow plague through a parish where all were at peace in the bosom of
the Church. The tailor had three ruling passions--cupidity, vanity,
and religion. Charley had now touched the three, and the whole man
was alive. His cupidity had been flattered by the unpaid service of a
capable assistant, but now he saw that he was paying the devil a wage.
His vanity was overwhelmed by a satanic ridicule. His religion and his
God had been assaulted in so shameful a way that no punishment could be
great enough for the man of hell. In religion he was a fanatic; he was a
demented fanatic now.

He thrust the paper into his pocket, then crept out into the hall and
to the door of Charley's bedroom. He put his ear to the door. After
a moment he softly raised the latch, and opened the door and listened
again. 'M'sieu' was in a deep sleep.

Louis Trudel scarcely knew why he had listened, why he had opened the
door and stood looking at the figure in the bed, barely definable in the
semi-darkness of the room. If he had meant harm to the helpless man,
he had brought no weapon; if he had been curious, there the man was
peacefully sleeping!

His sick, morbid imagination was so alive, that he scarcely knew what
he did. As he stood there listening, hatred and horror in his heart, a
voice said to him: "Thou shalt do no murder." The words kept ringing in
his ears. Yet he had not thought of murder. The fancied command itself
was his first temptation towards such a deed. He had thought of raising
the parish, of condign punishment of many sorts, but not this. As he
closed the door softly, killing entered his mind and stayed there. "Thou
shalt not" had been the first instigation to "Thou shalt."

It haunted him as he returned to his room, undressed himself, and went
to bed. He could not sleep. "Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!"
The challenge had been to himself. He must respond to it. The duty lay
with him; he must answer this black infidel for the Church, for faith,
for God.

The more he thought of it, the more Charley's face came before him, with
the monocle shining and hard in the eye. The monocle haunted him. That
was the infidel's sign. "Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!" What
sign should he show?

Presently he sat up straight in bed. In another minute he