And Durtal having risen to say good-bye, she kissed him affectionately, maternally, and said,—­

“We will pray with all our might, our friend, that God may enlighten you and show you your path, may lead you Himself into the way you ought to go.”

“I hope, Monsieur l’Abbe, that during my absence your rheumatism will grant you a little respite,” said Durtal, pressing the old priest’s hand.

“Oh, I must not wish to have no sufferings at all, for there is no cross so heavy as having none,” replied the Abbe.  “So do as I do, or rather, do better than I, for I still repine; put a cheerful face on your aridity, and your trials.—­Goodbye, God bless you!”

“And may the great Mother of Madonnas of France, the sweet Lady of Chartres, protect you!” added Madame Bavoil.

And when the door was shut, she added with a sigh,—­

“Certainly, I should be very grieved if he left our town for ever, for that friend is almost like a child of our own!  At the same time I should be very, very happy to think of him as a true monk!”

Then she began to laugh.

“Father,” said she, “will they cut his moustache off if he enters the cloister?”

“Undoubtedly.”

She tried to imagine Durtal clean-shaven, and she concluded with a laugh,—­

“I do not think it will improve his beauty.”

“Oh, these women!” said the Abbe, shrugging his shoulders.

“And what, in short,” asked she, “may we hope for from this journey?”

“It is not of me that you should ask that, Madame Bavoil.”

“Very true,” said she, and clasping her hands she murmured,—­

“It depends on Thee!  Help him in his poverty, remember that he can do nothing without Thine aid, Holy Temptress of men, Our Lady of the Pillar, Virgin of the Crypt.”

THE END.