“’Then, monsieur, I began to kill children played a trick on Him.  He did not get those.  It was not He, but I!  And I would have killed many others, but you caught me.  There!

“’I was to be executed.  I!  How He would have laughed!  Then I asked for a priest, and I lied.  I confessed to him.  I lied and I lived.

“’Now, all is over.  I can no longer escape from Him.  I no longer fear Him, monsieur; I despise Him too much.’

“This poor wretch was frightful to see as he lay there gasping, opening an enormous mouth in order to utter words which could scarcely be heard, his breath rattling, picking at his bed and moving his thin legs under a grimy sheet as though trying to escape.

“Oh!  The mere remembrance of it is frightful!

“‘You have nothing more to say?’ I asked.

“‘No, monsieur.’

“‘Then, farewell.’

“‘Farewell, monsieur, till some day——­’

“I turned to the ashen-faced priest, whose dark outline stood out against the wall, and asked:  ‘Are you going to stay here, Monsieur l’Abbe?’

“‘Yes.’

“Then the dying man sneered:  ’Yes, yes, He sends His vultures to the corpses.’

“I had had enough of this.  I opened the door and ran away.”

THE DISPENSER OF HOLY WATER

We lived formerly in a little house beside the high road outside the village.  He had set up in business as a wheelwright, after marrying the daughter of a farmer of the neighborhood, and as they were both industrious, they managed to save up a nice little fortune.  But they had no children, and this caused them great sorrow.  Finally a son was born, whom they named Jean.  They both loved and petted him, enfolding him with their affection, and were unwilling to let him be out of their sight.

When he was five years old some mountebanks passed through the country and set up their tent in the town hall square.

Jean, who had seen them pass by, made his escape from the house, and after his father had made a long search for him, he found him among the learned goats and trick dogs, uttering shouts of laughter and sitting on the knees of an old clown.

Three days later, just as they were sitting down to dinner, the wheelwright and his wife noticed that their son was not in the house.  They looked for him in the garden, and as they did not find him, his father went out into the road and shouted at the top of his voice, “Jean!”

Night came on.  A brown vapor arose making distant objects look still farther away and giving them a dismal, weird appearance.  Three tall pines, close at hand, seemed to be weeping.  Still there was no reply, but the air appeared to be full of indistinct sighing.  The father listened for some time, thinking he heard a sound first in one direction, then in another, and, almost beside himself, he ran, out into the night, calling incessantly “Jean!  Jean!”