At nine o’clock he relieved me, and I got a little sleep.  At two o’clock I, in my turn, replaced him.  We were utterly astonished.

At six o’clock the Jesuit left, with a very happy and satisfied look on his face, and we saw him go away with a quiet step.

Then, timid and ashamed, I went and knocked at the door of my uncle’s house; and when the servant opened it I did not dare to ask her any questions, but went upstairs without saying a word.

My uncle was lying, pale and exhausted, with weary, sorrowful eyes and heavy arms, on his bed.  A little religious picture was fastened to one of the bed curtains with a pin.

“Why, uncle,” I said, “in bed still?  Are you not well?”

He replied in a feeble voice: 

“Oh, my dear boy, I have been very ill, nearly dead.”

“How was that, uncle?”

“I don’t know; it was most surprising.  But what is stranger still is that the Jesuit priest who has just left—­you know, that excellent man whom I have made such fun of—­had a divine revelation of my state, and came to see me.”

I was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to laugh, and with difficulty said:  “Oh, really!”

“Yes, he came.  He heard a voice telling him to get up and come to me, because I was going to die.  I was a revelation.”

I pretended to sneeze, so as not to burst out laughing; I felt inclined to roll on the ground with amusement.

In about a minute I managed to say indignantly: 

“And you received him, uncle?  You, a Freethinker, a Freemason?  You did not have him thrown out of doors?”

He seemed confused, and stammered: 

“Listen a moment, it is so astonishing—­so astonishing and providential!  He also spoke to me about my father; it seems he knew him formerly.”

“Your father, uncle?  But that is no reason for receiving a Jesuit.”

“I know that, but I was very ill, and he looked after me most devotedly all night long.  He was perfect; no doubt he saved my life; those men all know a little of medicine.”

“Oh! he looked after you all night?  But you said just now that he had only been gone a very short time.”

“That is quite true; I kept him to breakfast after all his kindness.  He had it at a table by my bedside while I drank a cup of tea.”

“And he ate meat?”

My uncle looked vexed, as if I had said something very uncalled for, and then added: 

“Don’t joke, Gaston; such things are out of place at times.  He has shown me more devotion than many a relation would have done, and I expect to have his convictions respected.”

This rather upset me, but I answered, nevertheless:  “Very well, uncle; and what did you do after breakfast?”

“We played a game of bezique, and then he repeated his breviary while I read a little book which he happened to have in his pocket, and which was not by any means badly written.”