order to beg him to go for the
doctor.

He came back almost immediately with Dr. Gavaut, who prescribed a
soothing drink and gave some advice; but when the journalist saw him to
the door, in order to ask his real opinion, he said, "It is the end. He
will be dead to-morrow morning. Break it to his poor wife, and send for
a priest. I, for my part, can do nothing more. I am, however, entirely
at your service."

Duroy sent for Madame Forestier. "He is dying," said he. "The doctor
advises a priest being sent for. What would you like done?"

She hesitated for some time, and then, in slow tones, as though she had
calculated everything, replied, "Yes, that will be best--in many
respects. I will break it to him--tell him the vicar wants to see him,
or something or other; I really don't know what. You would be very kind
if you would go and find a priest for me and pick one out. Choose one
who won't raise too many difficulties over the business. One who will be
satisfied with confession, and will let us off with the rest of it all."

The young fellow returned with a complaisant old ecclesiastic, who
accommodated himself to the state of affairs. As soon as he had gone
into the dying man's room, Madame Forestier came out of it, and sat down
with Duroy in the one adjoining.

"It has quite upset him," said she. "When I spoke to him about a priest
his face assumed a frightful expression as if he had felt the
breath--the breath of--you know. He understood that it was all over at
last, and that his hours were numbered." She was very pale as she
continued, "I shall never forget the expression of his face. He
certainly saw death face to face at that moment. He saw him."

They could hear the priest, who spoke in somewhat loud tones, being
slightly deaf, and who was saying, "No, no; you are not so bad as all
that. You are ill, but in no danger. And the proof is that I have called
in as a friend as a neighbor."

They could not make out Forestier's reply, but the old man went on, "No,
I will not ask you to communicate. We will talk of that when you are
better. If you wish to profit by my visit--to confess, for instance--I
ask nothing better. I am a shepherd, you know, and seize on every
occasion to bring a lamb back to the fold."

A long silence followed. Forestier must have been speaking in a faint
voice. Then all at once the priest uttered in a different tone, the tone
of one officiating at the altar. "The mercy of God is infinite.