s my affair, all
that he needs--but you shall not tell him--no! That is all."

Prosper had his way. But he did not see Vaillantcoeur after he was
carried home and put to bed in his cabin. Even if he had tried to do so,
it would have been impossible. He could not see anybody. One of his eyes
was entirely destroyed. The inflammation spread to the other, and all
through the autumn he lay in his house, drifting along the edge of
blindness, while Raoul lay in his house slowly getting well.

The cure went from one house to the other, but he did not carry any
messages between them. If any were sent one way they were not received.
And the other way, none were sent. Raoul did not speak of Prosper; and
if one mentioned his name, Raoul shut his mouth and made no answer.

To the cure, of course, it was a distress and a misery. To have a hatred
like this unhealed, was a blot on the parish; it was a shame, as well
as a sin. At last--it was already winter, the day before Christmas--the
cure made up his mind that he would put forth one more great effort.

"Look you, my son," he said to Prosper, "I am going this afternoon to
Raoul Vaillantcoeur to make the reconciliation. You shall give me a word
to carry to him. He shall hear it this time, I promise you. Shall I tell
him what you have done for him, how you have cared for him?"

"No, never," said Prosper; "you shall not take that word from me. It is
nothing. It will make worse trouble. I will never send it."

"What then?" said the priest. "Shall I tell him that you forgive him?"

"No, not that," answered Prosper, "that would be a foolish word. What
would that mean? It is not I who can forgive. I was the one who struck
hardest. It was he that fell from the tower."

"Well, then, choose the word for yourself. What shall it be? Come, I
promise you that he shall hear it. I will take with me the notary, and
the good man Girard, and the little Marie Antoinette. You shall hear an
answer. What message?"

"Mon pere," said Prosper, slowly, "you shall tell him just this. I,
Prosper Leclere, ask Raoul Vaillantcoeur that he will forgive me for not
fighting with him on the ground when he demanded it."

Yes, the message was given in precisely those words. Marie Antoinette
stood within the door, Bergeron and Girard at the foot of the bed, and
the cure spoke very clearly and firmly. Vaillantcoeur rolled on his
pillow and turned his face away. Then he sat up in bed, grunting a
little with the pa