“What, old man; we are two, and we should fly before a single man!” “Alas! twenty sparrows fly before an owl. What glory is there in waiting for an officer of the law?” “And who tells you that this is one?” rejoined Ordener, whose eyes were not blinded by fear. “Keep up your courage, my valiant guide; I recognize this traveller. Let us wait for him.” The keeper was forced to submit. A moment later the horseman came up with them, and Spiagudry ceased to tremble when he saw the grave, calm face of the chaplain, Athanasius Munder. The latter greeted them with a smile, and reined in his steed, saying in an almost breathless voice, “My dear children, it is for your sake that I retrace my steps; and the Lord will surely not permit my absence, prolonged with a charitable intent, to injure those who sorely need my presence.” “Sir minister,” answered Ordener, “we shall be happy to aid you in any way we can.” “On the contrary, it is I, noble young man, who desire to serve you. Will you deign to tell me the object of your journey?” “Reverend sir, I cannot.” “All I ask, my son, is that your refusal may proceed from inability, and not from distrust. If not, I am indeed unhappy! Unhappy is he whom the good man distrusts, even if he have seen him but once!” The priest’s modesty and unction touched Ordener deeply. “All that I can tell you, Father, is that we are bound to the mountains of the North.” “So I thought, my son, and that is why I followed you. There are bands of roving hunters and miners in those mountains who might injure travellers.” “What then?” “Well, I know that it is useless to dissuade a noble young man in search of adventure; but the esteem I feel for you inspires me with another plan for helping you. The unfortunate counterfeiter to whom I bore the last consolations of religion yesterday was a miner. Just before he died he gave me a paper inscribed with his name, saying that this passport would protect me from all danger if I ever had to travel among those mountains. Alas! what can it avail a poor priest who must live and die among prisoners, and who, moreover, _inter castra latronum_, should seek no other defence than patience and prayer, the only weapons of God! I did not decline the pass, because we should never distress by refusal the heart of one who in a few minutes more will have nothing to receive or to give on earth. The good God deigned to inspire me, for now I can offer you this parchment, that it may go with you in all the perils of your journey, and that the gift of the dying man may benefit the traveller.” Ordener accepted the old priest’s gift with emotion. “Sir Chaplain,” said he, “God grant that your prayer may be heard! Thank you. But,” he added, laying his hand on his sword, “I already carry my passport at my side.”