fall, watched him drink strong liquor and did not
intervene, did not stay his hand. I made him drunk--I left him
drunk--I left him drunk. I went away and lied. I said he was ill and
I locked the door and took the key. I went back again and saw him; he
was still drunk and I was glad, because I thought 'This will keep him
here, this will make her hate and avoid him, this will prevent the
marriage'."

Father Rielle, though listening intently, still kept his gaze riveted
on the peculiar actions of the men outside Poussette's. The running to
and fro continued, but now suddenly an impulse prompted them to go in
one direction; they pointed, gesticulated, and then with startling
rapidity disappeared around the corner of the bridge. By this time the
priest was convinced that something was transpiring of serious and
uncommon import, yet he gave precedence to the wants of the penitent,
kneeling with head on his hands.

"I vowed he should never marry her--you know of whom I am speaking, of
both?"

"I know, my son."

"I say--I followed him. I took a room--I will tell you where,
later--which enabled me to watch him should he go out. Then I fell ill
myself and had to be kept in bed. O the torture, the pain, of knowing
that I might miss him, that he might leave without my knowledge, I,
from weakness, being unable to overtake him! And that happened, that
came to pass, as I feared it would."

"You watched him go?"

"No. When I recovered sufficiently to walk, I went to find him. I
went to that place where I had helped to make him drunk, but he was
gone."

"What day was that?"

"I do not know. I have lost track of the days, lost track of the time."

Father Rielle was now more than professionally interested; he saw that
the man before him was in a terrible state of incipient mental collapse.

"Surely you can tell me what day this is?" he cried.

"I cannot."

"Nor yesterday?"

"No."

"Yesterday was Sunday."

"Sunday? The word has no meaning."

"But at least you know where you are, where we both are at this
instant."

"Yes, I know that. We are in the church built by M. Poussette."

"Yesterday was Sunday and there should have been a service here, but
you were absent. How long have you been here? Were you waiting for
me?"

"No."

"For him?"

"Yes."

"And he came? Over the bridge?"

In a flash the priest divined, as he thought, the fate of Crabbe.

"_Mon Dieu! M'tenant je comprends_! The ho