tes he stood steadily contemplating it; breathing quickly, and
drawing his hand several times across his forehead. Then he faced
his son once more. In that short interval he had become in outward
appearance a changed man; expression, voice, and manner, all were
altered.

"Heaven forgive me!" he went on, "but I could almost laugh at myself, at
this solemn moment, for having spoken and acted just now so much like a
fool! Denied his words, did he? Poor old man! they say sense often comes
back to light-headed people just before death; and he is a proof of it.
The fact is, Gabriel, my own wits must have been a little shaken--and no
wonder--by what I went through last night, and what I have come home
to this morning. As if you, or anybody, could ever really give serious
credit to the wandering speeches of a dying old man! (Where is Perrine?
Why did you send her away?) I don't wonder at your still looking a
little startled, and feeling low in your mind, and all that--for you've
had a trying night of it, trying in every way. He must have been a good
deal shaken in his wits last night, between fears about himself and
fears about me. (To think of my being angry with you, Gabriel, for being
a little alarmed--very naturally--by an old man's queer fancies!) Come
out, Perrine--come out of the bedroom whenever you are tired of it:
you must learn sooner or later to look at death calmly. Shake hands,
Gabriel; and let us make it up, and say no more about what has passed.
You won't? Still angry with me for what I said to you just now? Ah!
you'll think better about it by the time I return. Come out, Perrine;
we've no secrets here."

"Where are you going to?" asked Gabriel, as he saw his father hastily
open the door.

"To tell the priest that one of his congregation is dead, and to have
the death registered," answered Francois. "These are _my_ duties, and
must be performed before I take any rest."

He went out hurriedly as he said these words. Gabriel almost trembled
at himself when he found that he breathed more freely, that he felt less
horribly oppressed both in mind and body, the moment his father's back
was turned. Fearful as thought was now, it was still a change for the
better to be capable of thinking at all. Was the behavior of his father
compatible with innocence? Could the old man's confused denial of his
own words in the morning, and in the presence of his son, be set for one
instant against the circumstantial confession tha