‘Ah! here he comes at last,’ he said, as he heard the door opening.  And stepping towards the Abbe he went on:  ’Do you know that you made me listen to half a mass?  It is a very long time since that happened to me.  But I was bent on seeing you to-day.  I have something to say to you.’

Then he stopped, and looked at the priest with an expression of surprise.  Silence fell.  ‘You at all events are quite well,’ he resumed, in a different voice.

‘Yes, I am very much better than I was,’ replied Abbe Mouret, with a smile.  ’I did not expect you before Thursday.  Sunday isn’t your day for coming.  Is there something you want to tell me?’

Uncle Pascal did not give an immediate answer.  He went on looking at the Abbe.  The latter was still fresh from the influence of the church and the mass.  His hair was fragrant with the perfume of the incense, and in his eyes shone all the joy of the Cross.  His uncle jogged his head, as he noticed that expression of triumphant peace.

‘I have come from the Paradou,’ he said, abruptly.  ’Jeanbernat came to fetch me there.  I have seen Albine, and she disquiets me.  She needs much careful treatment.’

He kept his eyes fixed upon the priest as he spoke, but he did not detect so much as a quiver of Serge’s eyelids.

‘She took great care of you, you know,’ he added, more roughly.  ’Without her, my boy, you might now be in one of the cells at Les Tulettes, with a strait waistcoat on. . . .  Well, I promised that you would go to see her.  I will take you with me.  It will be a farewell meeting.  She is anxious to go away.’

‘I can do nothing more than pray for the person of whom you speak,’ said Abbe Mouret, softly.

And as the doctor, losing his temper, brought his stick down heavily upon the couch, he added calmly, but in a firm voice: 

‘I am a priest, and can only help with prayers.’

‘Ah, well!  Yes, you are right,’ said Uncle Pascal, dropping down into an armchair, ’it is I who am an old fool.  Yes, I wept like a child, as I came here alone in my gig.  That is what comes of living amongst books.  One learns a lot from them, but one makes a fool of oneself in the world.  How could I guess that it would all turn out so badly?’

He rose from his chair and began to walk about again, looking exceedingly troubled.

’But yes, but yes, I ought to have guessed.  It was all quite natural.  Though with one in your position, it was bound to be abominable!  You are not as other men.  But listen to me, I assure you that otherwise you would never have recovered.  It was she alone, with the atmosphere she set round you, who saved you from madness.  There is no need for me to tell you what a state you were in.  It is one of my most wonderful cures.  But I can’t take any pride, any pleasure in it, for now the poor girl is dying of it!’

Abbe Mouret remained there erect, perfectly calm, his face reflecting all the quiet serenity of a martyr whom nothing that man might do could disturb.