"
Then he laid down the little book. Abbe Judaine was coming in, and the
Sacrament was about to be administered. Marie, however, again penetrated
by the fever of faith, her hands burning, leant towards Pierre. "Oh, my
friend!" said she, "I pray you hear me confess my fault and absolve me. I
have blasphemed, and have been guilty of mortal sin. If you do not
succour me, I shall be unable to receive the Blessed Sacrament, and yet I
so greatly need to be consoled and strengthened."
The young priest refused her request with a wave of the hand. He had
never been willing to act as confessor to this friend, the only woman he
had loved in the healthy, smiling days of youth. However, she insisted.
"I beg you to do so," said she; "you will help to work the miracle of my
cure."
Then he gave way and received the avowal of her fault, that impious
rebellion induced by suffering, that rebellion against the Virgin who had
remained deaf to her prayers. And afterwards he granted her absolution in
the sacramental form.
Meanwhile Abbe Judaine had already deposited the ciborium on a little
table, between two lighted tapers, which looked like woeful stars in the
semi-obscurity of the ward. Madame de Jonquiere had just decided to open
one of the windows quite wide, for the odour emanating from all the
suffering bodies and heaped-up rags had become unbearable. But no air
came in from the narrow courtyard into which the window opened; though
black with night, it seemed like a well of fire.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316