these rafters and disjointed laths four Christian souls were interceding with God for a king of France, and making his burial without a coffin.  It was the purest of all devotions; an act of wonderful loyalty accomplished without one thought of self.  Doubtless in the eyes of God it was the cup of cold water that weighed in the balance against many virtues.  The whole of monarchy was there in the prayers of the priest and the two poor women; but also it may have been that the Revolution was present likewise, in the person of the strange being whose face betrayed the remorse that led him to make this solemn offering of a vast repentance.

Instead of pronouncing the Latin words, “Introibo ad altare Dei” etc., the priest, with divine intuition, glanced at his three assistants, who represented all Christian France, and said, in words which effaced the penury and meanness of the hovel, “We enter now into the sanctuary of God.”

At these words, uttered with penetrating unction, a solemn awe seized the participants.  Beneath the dome of St. Peter’s in Rome, God had never seemed more majestic to man than he did now in this refuge of poverty and to the eyes of these Christians,—­so true is it that between man and God all mediation is unneeded, for his glory descends from himself alone.  The fervent piety of the nameless man was unfeigned, and the feeling that held these four servants of God and the king was unanimous.  The sacred words echoed like celestial music amid the silence.  There was a moment when the unknown broke down and wept:  it was at the Pater Noster, to which the priest added a Latin clause which the stranger doubtless comprehended and applied,—­“Et remitte scelus regicidis sicut Ludovicus eis remisit semetipse” (And forgive the regicides even as Louis XVI. himself forgave them).  The two nuns saw the tears coursing down the manly cheeks of their visitant, and dropping fast on the tiled floor.

The Office of the Dead was recited.  The “Domine salvum fac regem,” sung in low tones, touched the hearts of these faithful royalists as they thought of the infant king, now captive in the hands of his enemies, for whom this prayer was offered.  The unknown shuddered; perhaps he feared an impending crime in which he would be called to take an unwilling part.

When the service was over, the priest made a sign to the nuns, who withdrew to the outer room.  As soon as he was alone with the unknown, the old man went up to him with gentle sadness of manner, and said in the tone of a father,—­

“My son, if you have steeped your hands in the blood of the martyr king, confess yourself to me.  There is no crime which, in the eyes of God, is not washed out by a repentance as deep and sincere as yours appears to be.”

At the first words of the ecclesiastic an involuntary motion of terror escaped the stranger; but he quickly recovered himself, and looked at the astonished priest with calm assurance.