“I felt that I was in the presence of a misery that was like a devouring element.  Before we had time for more than a very few halting words the bell was rung by Francois.

“‘What’s that for, Father?’ the stranger said, with a start, which showed that his nerves were shattered.

“‘It is time for your meal,’ I answered.

“‘One must eat!’ he said.  Then, as if conscious that he was behaving oddly, he added politely: 

“’I know you entertain us too well here, and have sometimes been rewarded with coarse ingratitude.  Where do I go?’

“I showed him into the parlour.  There was no one there that day.  He sat at the long table.

“‘I am to eat alone?’ he asked.

“‘Yes; I will serve you.’

“Francois, always waited on the guests, but that day—­mindful of the selfishness of my thoughts in the garden—­I resolved to add to my duties.  I therefore brought the soup, the lentils, the omelette, the oranges, poured out the wine, and urged the young man cordially to eat.  When I did so he looked up at me.  His eyes were extraordinarily expressive.  It was as if I heard them say to me, ‘Why, I like you!’ and as if, just for a moment, his grief were lessened.

“In the empty parlour, long, clean, bare, with a crucifix on the wall and the name ‘Saint Bernard’ above the door, it was very quiet, very shady.  The outer blinds of green wood were drawn over the window-spaces, shutting out the gold of the garden.  But its murmuring tranquillity seemed to filter in, as if the flowers, the insects, the birds were aware of our presence and were trying to say to us, ’Are you happy as we are?  Be happy as we are.’

“The stranger looked at the shady room, the open windows.  He sighed.

“‘How quiet it is here!’ he said, almost as if to himself.  ’How quiet it is!’

“‘Yes,’ I answered.  ’Summer is beginning.  For months now scarcely anyone will come to us here.’

“‘Us?’ he said, glancing at me with a sudden smile.

“‘I meant to us who are monks, who live always here.’

“‘May I—­is it indiscreet to ask if you have been here long?’

“I told him.

“‘More than nineteen years!’ he said.

“‘Yes.’

“‘And always in this silence?’

“He sat as if listening, resting his head on his hand.

“‘How extraordinary!’ he said at last.  ‘How wonderful!  Is it happiness?’

“I did not answer.  The question seemed to me to be addressed to himself, not to me.  I could leave him to seek for the answer.  After a moment he went on eating and drinking in silence.  When he had finished I asked him whether he would take coffee.  He said he would, and I made him pass into the St. Joseph salle.  There I brought him coffee and—­and that liqueur.  I told him that it was my invention.  He seemed to be interested.  At any rate, he took a glass and praised it strongly.  I was pleased.