"We
have closed one shutter," it said, "but the shutter of God's
mercy Is never closed."
"Amen," a second person answered in a tone so distant and muffled
that it needed no great wit to guess whence it came, or that the
speaker was behind the curtains of the alcove. "Who are you?"
"The cure of St. Marceau," the first speaker replied.
"And whom do you bring to me?"
"A sinner."
"What has he done?"
"He will tell you."
"I am listening."
There was a pause on this, a long pause; which was broken at
length by a third speaker, in a tone half sullen, half miserable.
"I have robbed my master," he said.
"Of how much?"
"Fifty livres."
"Why?"
"I lost it at play."
"And you are sorry."
"I must be sorry," the man panted with sudden fierceness, "or
hang!" Hidden though he was from us, there was a tremor in his
voice that told a tale of pallid cheeks and shaking knees,and a
terror fast rising to madness.
"He makes up his accounts to-morrow?"
"Yes."
Someone in the room groaned; it should have been the culprit, but
unless I was mistaken the sound came through the curtains.
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