m his memory; he no longer
beheld her, but he was driven on by old resolves whose lingering
influence, though they themselves were dead, still worked upon him in
his silence and loneliness.

He took no pains to escape notice when he set foot out of doors. He
stopped at the end of the village to talk for a moment to Rosalie. She
told him that her baby was suffering from convulsions; but she laughed,
as she spoke, with the laugh that was natural to her. Then he struck
out through the rocks, and walked straight on towards the breach in the
wall. By force of habit he had brought his breviary with him. Finding
the way long, he opened the book and read the regulation prayers. When
he put it back again under his arm, he had forgotten the Paradou. He
went on walking steadily, thinking about a new chasuble that he wished
to purchase to replace the old gold-broidered one, which was certainly
falling into shreds. For some time past he had been saving up
twenty-sous pieces, and he calculated that by the end of seven months
he would have got the necessary amount of money together. He had reached
the hills when the song of a peasant in the distance reminded him of
a canticle which had been familiar to him at the seminary. He tried to
recall the first lines of it, but his recollection failed him. It vexed
him to find that his memory was so poor. And when, at last, he succeeded
in remembering the words, he found a soothing pleasure in humming the
verses, which came back to his mind one by one. It was a hymn of homage
to Mary. He smiled as though some soft breath from the days of his
childhood were playing upon his face. Ah! how happy he had then been!
Why shouldn't he be as happy again? He had not grown any bigger, he
wanted nothing more than the same old happiness, unruffled peace, a nook
in the chapel, where his knees marked his place, a life of seclusion,
enlivened by the delightful puerilities of childhood. Little by little
he raised his voice, singing the canticle in flutelike tones, when he
suddenly became aware of the breach immediately in front of him.

For a moment he seemed surprised. Then, the smile dying from his face,
he murmured quietly:

'Albine must be expecting me. The sun is already setting.'

But just as he was about to push some stones aside to make himself a
passage, he was startled by a snore. He sprang down again: he had only
just missed setting his foot upon the very face of Brother Archangias,
who was lying