me the first monk, the first cure, the first priest you may
meet. But,” he added in a despairing tone, “perhaps no one
will dare to come for it is known that the Spaniards are
ranging through the country, and I shall die without
absolution. My God! my God! Good God! good God!” added the
wounded man, in an accent of terror which made the young men
shudder; “you will not allow that? that would be too
terrible!”
“Calm yourself, sir,” replied De Guiche. “I swear to you,
you shall receive the consolation that you ask. Only tell us
where we shall find a house at which we can demand aid and a
village from which we can fetch a priest.”
“Thank you, and God reward you! About half a mile from this,
on the same road, there is an inn, and about a mile further
on, after leaving the inn, you will reach the village of
Greney. There you must find the curate, or if he is not at
home, go to the convent of the Augustines, which is the last
house on the right, and bring me one of the brothers. Monk
or priest, it matters not, provided only that he has
received from holy church the power of absolving in articulo
mortis.”
“Monsieur d’Arminges,” said De Guiche, “remain beside this
unfortunate man and see that he is removed as gently as
possible. The vicomte and myself will go and find a priest.”
“Go, sir,” replied the tutor; “but in Heaven’s name do not
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expose yourself to danger!”
“Do not fear. Besides, we are safe for to-day; you know the
axiom, `Non bis in idem.'”
“Courage, sir,” said Raoul to the wounded man. “We are going
to execute your wishes.”
“May Heaven prosper you!” replied the dying man, with an
accent of gratitude impossible to describe.
The two young men galloped off in the direction mentioned
and in ten minutes reached the inn. Raoul, without
dismounting, called to the host and announced that a wounded
man was about to be brought to his house and begged him in
the meantime to prepare everything needful. He desired him
also, should he know in the neighborhood any doctor or
chirurgeon, to fetch him, taking on himself the payment of
the messenger.
The host, who saw two young noblemen, richly clad, promised
everything they required, and our two cavaliers, after
seeing that preparations for the reception were actually
begun, started off again and proceeded rapidly toward
Greney.
They had gone rather more than a league and had begun to
descry the first houses of the village, the red-tiled roofs
of which stood out from the green trees which surrounded
them, when, coming toward them mounted on a mule, they
perceived a poor monk, whose large hat and gray worsted
dress made them take him for an Augustine brother. Chance
for once seemed to favor them in sending what they were so
assiduously seeking. He was a man about twenty-two or
twenty-three years old, but who appeared much older from
ascetic exercises. His complexion was pale, not of that
deadly pallor which is a kind of neutral beauty, but of a
bilious, yellow hue; his colorless hair was short and
scarcely extended beyond the circle formed by the hat around
his head, and his light blue eyes seemed destitute of any
expression.
“Sir,” began Raoul, with his usual politeness, “are you an
ecclesiastic?”
“Why do you ask me that?” replied the stranger, with a
coolness which was barely civil.
“Because we want to know,” said De Guiche, haughtily.
The stranger touched his mule with his heel and continued
his way.
In a second De Guiche had sprung before him and barred his
passage. “Answer, sir,” exclaimed he; “you have been asked
politely, and every question is worth an answer.”
“I suppose I am free to say or not to say who I am to two
strangers who take a fancy to ask me.”
It was with difficulty that De Guiche restrained the intense
desire he had of breaking the monk’s bones.
“In the first place,” he said, making an effort to control
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