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Rh bad for Cœlestin. Everyone had seen Cleofas at vesper service; no one had seen Cœlestin.

The Prior put his hand to his brow as if in search for a reasonable decision. The Prior took the flute and carried it into his own room. Cœlestin was led to the Cloister prison, where he was to remain and eat only bread and water until he confessed to the truth. Night came on. Cœlestin did not know it. The little prison chamber under the roof was always dark. The one little barred window was right under the drain spout of the roof. The door opened. Brother Cleofas came in. Grumbling he placed a piece of bread by Cœlestin's cot; and fastened a diminutive earthen lamp to the unpainted wall and left. Cœlestin tried to talk with him, but he shut the door in silence and turned the key.

He threw himself upon the miserable cot and tried to sleep. Feverish fancies crossed his brain, his forehead was hot, his eyes were heavy, but he could not sleep. Slowly the hours passed.

“What a wretched existence!” thought Cœlestin, “It would be better to die.” He began to meditate about death. It seemed to him something