His face was contorted by a spasm.

“My mother was dead.  My brother lived on in Tunis, and was successful in business.  He remained unmarried.  So far as I was concerned, although the monastery was but two hours’ drive from the town, he might almost have been dead too.  I scarcely ever saw him, and then only by a special permission from the Reverend Pere, and for a few moments.  Once I visited him at Tunis, when he was ill.  When my mother died I seemed to sink down a little deeper into the monastic life.  That was all.  It was as if I drew my robe more closely round me and pulled my hood further forward over my face.  There was more reason for my prayers, and I prayed more passionately.  I lived in prayer like a sea-plant in the depths of the ocean.  Prayer was about me like a fluid.  But Dom Andre Herceline died, and a new Abbe was appointed, he who, I suppose, rules now at El-Largani.  He was a good man, but, I think, apt to misunderstand men.  The Abbe of a Trappist monastery has complete power over his community.  He can order what he will.  Soon after he came to El-Largani—­for some reason that I cannot divine—­he—­removed the Pere Michel, who had been for years in charge of the cemetery, from his duties there, and informed me that I was to undertake them.  I obeyed, of course, without a word.

“The cemetery of El-Largani is on a low hill, the highest part of the monastery grounds.  It is surrounded by a white wall and by a hedge of cypress trees.  The road to it is an avenue of cypresses, among which are interspersed niches containing carvings of the Fourteen Stations of the Cross.  At the entrance to this avenue, on the left, there is a high yellow pedestal, surmounted by a black cross, on which hangs a silver Christ.  Underneath is written: 

“FACTUS OBEDIENS

“USQUE

“AD MORTEM

“CRUCIS.

“I remember, on the first day when I became the guardian of the cemetery, stopping on my way to it before the Christ and praying.  My prayer—­my prayer was, Domini, that I might die, as I had lived, in innocence.  I prayed for that, but with a sort of—­yes, now I think so—­insolent certainty that my prayer would of course be granted.  Then I went on to the cemetery.

“My work there was easy.  I had only to tend the land about the graves, and sweep out the little chapel where was buried the founder of La Trappe of El-Largani.  This done I could wander about the cemetery, or sit on a bench in the sun.  The Pere Michel, who was my predecessor, had some doves, and had left them behind in a little house by my bench.  I took care of and fed them.  They were tame, and used to flutter to my shoulders and perch on my hands.  To birds and animals I was always a friend.  At El-Largani there are all sorts of beasts, and, at one time or another, it had been my duty to look after most of them.  I loved all living things.  Sitting in the cemetery I could see a great stretch of country, the blue of the lakes of Tunis with the