. Margot never told me."

"It was easy to forget. I have never known, what love is . . . from
another."

"Have I?" with self-inflicted irony.

"I sought it; you repelled it."

"I knew not how to keep it, that was all. If I should say to you, 'My
son, I am sorry. I have lived evilly. I have wronged you; forgive me;
I am dying'!" The marquis was breathing with that rapidity which
foretells of coming dissolution. "What would you say, Jesuit?"

Brother Jacques stood petrified.

"That silence is scarce less than a curse," said the marquis.

Still Brother Jacques's tongue refused its offices.

"Ah, well, I brought you into the world carelessly, you have cursed me
out of it. We are quits. Begone!" There was dignity in his gesture
toward the door.

Brother Jacques did not stir.

"Begone, I say, and let me die in peace."

"I will give you absolution, father."

The fierce, burning eyes seemed to search into Brother Jacques's soul.
There was on that proud face neither fear nor horror. And this was the
hour Brother Jacques had planned and waited for! For this moment he
had donned the robes, isolated himself, taken vows, suffered physical
tortures! He had come to curse: he was offering absolution.

"Hypocrite, begone!" cried the marquis, seized with vertigo. He tried
to strike the bell, but the effort merely sent it jangling to the
floor. "Begone!"

"Monsieur!"

"Must I call for help?"

Brother Jacques could stand no more. He rushed madly toward the door,
which he opened violently. Sister Benie stood in the corridor,
transfixed.

"My son?" she faltered. A pathetic little sob escaped her. Her arms
reached out feebly; she fell. Brother Jacques caught her, but she was
dead. Her heart had broken. With a cry such as Dante conceived in his
dream of hell, Brother Jacques fell beside her, insensible.

The marquis stared at the two prostrate figures, fumbling with his lips.

Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and Jehan, followed by the
Chevalier, entered.

"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" The marquis was throwing aside the
coverlet.

"Father!" cried the Chevalier.

"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" the marquis cried. "My clothes, my
clothes! Help me! I must dress!"

With trembling hands Jehan did as his master bade him. The Chevalier,
appalled, glanced first at his father, then at Brother Jacques and
Sister Benie. He leaned against the wall, dazed; understood nothing of
this