, and all the natural ties that render calamity less frightful
and insupportable. I would gladly have said a word to soften the pain
which the baron had inflicted; but it would have been officious, and
might have given offence.

The old priest, however, expressed no anxiety or regret upon hearing the
verdict pronounced against him. With a firm and quiet hand he replaced
the bandages, and he then drew a coarse bag from his pocket, from which
he extracted a five franc piece.

"This is," he said calmly, "a very trifling fee, indeed, for the opinion
of so celebrated a surgeon; but, as I have told you, sir, the
necessities of my poor are great. I cannot afford to spend more upon
this worthless carcass. I an very grateful to you for your candour, sir.
It will be my own fault now, if I die unprepared."

"It is the profession of a priest," said the baron, "to affect stoicism.
You do not feel it."

"I do not, sir," replied the man respectfully. "I did not hear the awful
truth you just now told me as a stoic would. Pardon me for saying, that
it might have been communicated less harshly and abruptly to a weak old
man; I do not wish to speak offensively."

The baron blushed for shame.

"I am a human being, sir," continued the priest, "and must feel as other
men. Death is a terrible abyss between earth and heaven; but the land is
not the less lovely beyond it."

"You speak as you were taught?" said the baron.

"Yes."

"And as you teach?"

"Yes."

"And you profess to feel all this?"

"I profess to be a humble minister of Christ--imperfect enough, Heaven
knows, sir! I ask your pardon for complaining at your words. They did
not shock me very much. How should they, when I came expecting them?
Farewell, sir; I will return to Auvergne, and die in the midst of my
people."

"Stay!" exclaimed the baron, touched and softened by the one magical
word. "Come back! I admire your calmness--I respect your powers of
endurance. Can you trust them to the end?"

"I am frail, and very weak, sir," replied the priest. "I would bear much
to save my life. I do not wish to die. I have many things unfinished
yet."

"Listen to me. There is but one means of saving you; and mark--that
perhaps may fail--a long, painful, and, it may be, unsuccessful
operation. Are you prepared to run the risk?"

"Is there a chance, sir?"

"Yes--but a remote one. Were I the priest of Auvergne I would take that
chance."

"It is enough, sir," said the old ma