f the river he met a fisherman and begged
to be taken by boat. The fisherman wondered, but picked the priest up in
his strong arms, lowered him into the boat, and rowed swiftly towards
the chateau. When they landed he made fast.

"I will wait for you in the kitchen, my father," he said; and the priest
blessed him and hurried up to the castle.

Once more he entered through the door of the great kitchen, with its
blue tiles, its glittering brass and bronze warming-pans which had
comforted nobles and monarchs in the days of Croisac splendor. He sank
into a chair beside the stove while a maid hastened to the count. She
returned while the priest was still shivering, and announced that her
master would see his holy visitor in the library.

It was a dreary room where the count sat waiting for the priest, and it
smelled of musty calf, for the books on the shelves were old. A few
novels and newspapers lay on the heavy table, a fire burned on the
andirons, but the paper on the wall was very dark and the fleurs-de-lis
were tarnished and dull. The count, when at home, divided his time
between this library and the water, when he could not chase the boar or
the stag in the forests. But he often went to Paris, where he could
afford the life of a bachelor in a wing of his great hotel; he had known
too much of the extravagance of women to give his wife the key of the
faded salons. He had loved the beautiful girl when he married her, but
her repinings and bitter discontent had alienated him, and during the
past year he had held himself aloof from her in sullen resentment. Too
late he understood, and dreamed passionately of atonement. She had been
a high-spirited brilliant eager creature, and her unsatisfied mind had
dwelt constantly on the world she had vividly enjoyed for one year. And
he had given her so little in return!

He rose as the priest entered, and bowed low. The visit bored him, but
the good old priest commanded his respect; moreover, he had performed
many offices and rites in his family. He moved a chair towards his
guest, but the old man shook his head and nervously twisted his hands
together.

"Alas, _monsieur le comte_," he said, "it may be that you, too, will
tell me that I am an old lunatic, as did _Monsieur l'Eveque_. Yet I must
speak, even if you tell your servants to fling me out of the chateau."

The count had started slightly. He recalled certain acid comments of the
bishop, followed by a statement that a you