, and threw himself on his knees close to
Father d'Aigrigny, exclaiming: "Great Heaven! he is dead!"

There is a singular variableness in the mind of a crowd, susceptible
alike to good or evil impressions. At the heart-piercing cry of Gabriel,
all these people, who, a moment before, had demanded, with loud uproar,
the massacre of this man, felt touched with a sudden pity. The words: "He
is dead!" circulated in low whispers through the crowd accompanied by a
slight shudder, whilst Gabriel raised with one hand the victim's heavy
head, and with the other sought to feel if the pulse still beat beneath
the ice-cold skin.

"Mr. Curate," said the quarryman, bending towards Gabriel, "is there
really no hope?"

The answer was waited for with anxiety, in the midst of deep silence. The
people hardly ventured to exchange a few words in whispers.

"Blessed be God!" exclaimed Gabriel, suddenly. "His heart beats."

"His heart beats," repeated the quarryman, turning his head towards the
crowd, to inform them of the good news.

"Oh! his heart beats!" repeated the others, in whispers.

"There is hope. We may yet save him," added Gabriel with an expression of
indescribable happiness.

"We may yet save him," repeated the quarryman, mechanically.

"We may yet save him," muttered the crowd.

"Quick, quick," resumed Gabriel, addressing the quarryman; "help me,
brother. Let us carry him to a neighboring house, where he can have
immediate aid."

The quarryman obeyed with readiness. Whilst the missionary lifted Father
d'Aigrigny by holding him under the arms, the quarryman took the legs of
the almost inanimate body. Together, they carried him outside of the
choir. At sight of the formidable quarryman, aiding the young priest to
render assistance to the man whom he had just before pursued with menaces
of death, the multitude felt a sudden thrill of compassion. Yielding to
the powerful influence of the words and example of Gabriel, they felt
themselves deeply moved, and each became anxious to offer services.

"Mr. Curate, he would perhaps be better on a chair, that one could carry
upright," said Ciboule.

"Shall I go and fetch a stretcher from the hospital?" asked another.

"Mr. Curate, let me take your place; the body is too heavy for you."

"Don't trouble yourself," said a powerful man, approaching the missionary
respectfully; "I can carry him alone."

"Shall I run and fetch a coach, Mr. Curate?" said a young vagabond,
taking