to see the
church?" said the monk; "a jewel of a church, if we could keep it in
repair; but we can't. Ah! malediction and misery, we are too poor to
keep our church in repair!"

Here he shook his head and began fumbling with a large bunch of keys.

"Never mind the church now," said I. "Can you, or can you not, tell me
what I want to know?"

"Everything, from beginning to end--absolutely everything. Why, I
answered the gate-bell--I always answer the gate-bell here," said the
Capuchin.

"What, in Heaven's name, has the gate-bell to do with the unburied
corpse in your house?"

"Listen, son of mine, and you shall know. Some time ago--some
months--ah! me, I'm old; I've lost my memory; I don't know how many
months--ah! miserable me, what a very old, old monk I am!" Here he
comforted himself with another pinch of snuff.

"Never mind the exact time," said I. "I don't care about that."

"Good," said the Capuchin. "Now I can go on. Well, let us say it is some
months ago--we in this convent are all at breakfast--wretched, wretched
breakfasts, son of mine, in this convent!--we are at breakfast, and we
hear _bang! bang!_ twice over. 'Guns,' says I. 'What are they shooting
for?' says Brother Jeremy. 'Game,' says Brother Vincent. 'Aha! game,'
says Brother Jeremy. 'If I hear more, I shall send out and discover what
it means,' says the father superior. We hear no more, and we go on with
our wretched breakfasts."

"Where did the report of firearms come from?" I inquired.

"From down below--beyond the big trees at the back of the convent, where
there's some clear ground--nice ground, if it wasn't for the pools and
puddles. But, ah! misery, how damp we are in these parts! how very, very
damp!"

"Well, what happened after the report of firearms?"

"You shall hear. We are still at breakfast, all silent--for what have we
to talk about here? What have we but our devotions, our kitchen-garden,
and our wretched, wretched bits of breakfasts and dinners? I say we are
all silent, when there comes suddenly such a ring at the bell as never
was heard before--a very devil of a ring--a ring that caught us all with
our bits--our wretched, wretched bits!--in our mouths, and stopped us
before we could swallow them. 'Go, brother of mine,' says the father
superior to me, 'go; it is your duty--go to the gate.' I am brave--a
very lion of a Capuchin. I slip out on tiptoe--I wait--I listen--I pull
back our little shutter in the gate--I wait, I list