“Hosanna,” said Sister Agatha, suddenly interrupting the stranger, and looking at him with anxious curiosity.

“That is not his name, I think,” he answered.

“But, Monsieur, we have no priest here,” cried Sister Martha, hastily, “and—­”

“Then you should take better precautions,” said the unknown gently, stretching his arm to the table and picking up a breviary.  “I do not think you understand Latin, and—­”

He stopped short, for the extreme distress painted on the faces of the poor nuns made him fear he had gone too far; they trembled violently, and their eyes filled with tears.

“Do not fear,” he said; “I know the name of your guest, and yours also.  During the last three days I have learned your poverty, and your great devotion to the venerable Abbe of—­”

“Hush!” exclaimed Sister Agatha, ingenuously putting a finger on her lip.

“You see, my sisters, that if I had the horrible design of betraying you, I might have accomplished it again and again.”

As he uttered these words the priest emerged from his prison and appeared in the middle of the room.

“I cannot believe, Monsieur,” he said courteously, “that you are one of our persecutors.  I trust you.  What is it you desire of me?”

The saintly confidence of the old man, and the nobility of mind imprinted on his countenance, might have disarmed even an assassin.  He who thus mysteriously agitated this home of penury and resignation stood contemplating the group before him; then he addressed the priest in a trustful tone, with these words:—­

“My father, I came to ask you to celebrate a mass for the repose of the soul—­of—­of a sacred being whose body can never lie in holy ground.”

The priest involuntarily shuddered.  The nuns, not as yet understanding who it was of whom the unknown man had spoken, stood with their necks stretched and their faces turned towards the speakers, in an attitude of eager curiosity.  The ecclesiastic looked intently at the stranger; unequivocal anxiety was marked on every feature, and his eyes offered an earnest and even ardent prayer.

“Yes,” said the priest at length.  “Return here at midnight, and I shall be ready to celebrate the only funeral service that we are able to offer in expiation of the crime of which you speak.”

The unknown shivered; a joy both sweet and solemn seemed to rise in his soul above some secret grief.  Respectfully saluting the priest and the two saintly women, he disappeared with a mute gratitude which these generous souls knew well how to interpret.