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Rh time! . . . Ah! Monsieur Jean! . . . What a handsome young man you are! . . ."

Then Marie, thinking that she would gain my interest thereby, began telling me the news of the place:

"That poor Monsieur the cure is dead, you know. The new one in his place don't seem to be getting ahead at all, he is too young and anxious. . . . Baptiste has been crushed to death by a tree."

I interrupted her:

"All right, all right, Marie. . . . You'll tell me about it tomorrow."

She took me to my bedroom and asked:

"Shall I bring you a bowl of milk, Monsieur Jean?"

"If you please!"

And closing the door, I flung myself on the lounge and sobbed for a long, long time.

The next day I got up at dawn. . . . The Priory had not changed much: there was only more grass in the alleys, more moss on the steps, and a few trees were dead. Again I saw the gate, the scurfy lawn, the puny looking sorbs, the aged chestnut trees. Again I saw the basin where the little kitten had been shot, the curtain of fir trees which hid the commons from view, the abandoned study; I saw the park, its twisted trees and stone benches that looked like ancient tombs. . . . In the kitchen garden Felix was digging a border bed for flowers. . . . Ah! poor man, how battered his frame was!

He showed me a hawthorn and said:

"That is where you used to come with your poor deceased father to lie in wait for the blackbirds. . . . Do you remember, Monsieur Jean?"

"Yes, yes, Felix!"

"And also the thrush?"

"Yes, yes, Felix!"

I walked away. I could not bear the sight of this