m to
fetch the doctor. He returned almost immediately with Dr. Gavant who
prescribed for the sick man. When the journalist asked him his opinion,
he said: "It is the final stage. He will be dead to-morrow morning.
Prepare that poor, young wife and send for a priest. I can do nothing
more. However, I am entirely at your disposal" Duroy went to Mme.
Forestier. "He is going to die. The doctor advises me to send for a
priest. What will you do?"

She hesitated a moment and then said slowly:

"I will go and tell him that the cure wishes to see him. Will you be
kind enough to procure one who will require nothing but the confession,
and who will not make much fuss?"

The young man brought with him a kind, old priest who accommodated
himself to circumstances. When he had entered the death chamber, Mme.
Forestier went out and seated herself with Duroy in an adjoining room.

"That has upset him," said she. "When I mentioned the priest to him,
his face assumed a scared expression. He knew that the end was near. I
shall never forget his face."

At that moment they heard the priest saying to him: "Why no, you are
not so low as that. You are ill, but not in danger. The proof of that
is that I came as a friend, a neighbor." They could not hear his reply.
The priest continued: "No, I shall not administer the sacrament. We
will speak of that when you are better. If you will only confess, I ask
no more. I am a pastor; I take advantage of every occasion to gather in
my sheep."

A long silence followed. Then suddenly the priest said, in the tone of
one officiating at the altar:

"The mercy of God is infinite; repeat the 'Confiteor,' my son. Perhaps
you have forgotten it; I will help you. Repeat with me: 'Confiteor Deo
omnipotenti; Beata Mariae semper virgini.'" He paused from time to time
to permit the dying man to catch up to him.

Then he said: "Now, confess." The sick man murmured something. The
priest repeated: "You have committed sins: of what kind, my son?"

The young woman rose and said simply: "Let us go into the garden. We
must not listen to his secrets."

They seated themselves upon a bench before the door, beneath a
blossoming rosebush. After several moments of silence Duroy asked:
"Will it be some time before you return to Paris?"

"No," she replied; "when all is over, I will go back."

"In about ten days?"

"Yes, at most."

He continued; "Charles has no relatives then?"

"None, save cousins. His father and m