Garnache's own--the nose of a man of action rather than of prayer--bowed
gravely to this stalwart stranger, and in courteous accents begged to be
informed in what he might serve him.

Hat in hand, Garnache took a step forward in that bare, scantily
furnished little room, permeated by the faint, waxlike odour that is
peculiar to the abode of conventuals. Without hesitation he stated the
reason of his visit.

"Father," said he, "a son of the house of Condillac met his end this
morning at La Rochette."

The monk's eyes seemed to quicken, as though his interest in the outer
world had suddenly revived.

"It is the Hand of God," he cried. "Their evil ways have provoked at
last the anger of Heaven. How did this unfortunate meet his death?"

Garnache shrugged his shoulders.

"De mortuis nil nisi bonum," said he. His air was grave, his blue eyes
solemn, and the Abbot had little cause to suspect the closeness with
which that pair of eyes was watching him. He coloured faintly at
the implied rebuke, but he inclined his head as if submissive to the
correction, and waited for the other to proceed.

"There is the need, Father, to give his body burial," said Garnache
gently.

But at that the monk raised his head, and a deeper flush the flush of
anger--spread now upon his sallow cheeks. Garnache observed it, and was
glad.

"Why do you come to me?" he asked.

"Why?" echoed Garnache, and there was hesitancy now in his voice. "Is
not the burial of the dead enjoined by Mother Church? Is it not a part
of your sacred office?"

"You ask me this as you would challenge my reply," said the monk,
shaking his head. "It is as you say, but it is not within our office to
bury the impious dead, nor those who in life were excommunicate and died
without repentance."

"How can you assume he died without repentance?"

"I do not; but I assume he died without absolution, for there is no
priest who, knowing his name, would dare to shrive him, and if one
should do it in ignorance of his name and excommunication, why then it
is not done at all. Bid others bury this son of the house of Condillac;
it matters no more by what hands or in what ground he be buried than if
he were the horse he rode or the hound that followed him."

"The Church is very harsh, Father," said Garnache sternly.

"The Church is very just," the priest answered him, more sternly still,
a holy wrath kindling his sombre eyes.

"He was in life a powerful noble," said Garnac