"But no, Annette--pardon me, Reverend Mother--I do not find that you have changed in the least." The Mother Superior smiled, and a faint blush appeared on her pale cheeks. "In one respect you have not changed, Monsieur Gamache--you were always able to turn a compliment in a very pleasant way, though without much regard to fact, perhaps. It is sinful; yet one likes to hear those charming little untruths, which flatter but do not deceive. You shall confess to Father Félix, Monsieur, and he will give you a suitable penance." "Confess, Reverend Mother? To what end? That is what I have not done in forty years. There, I am confessing now, and already I feel better. You have power to grant absolution, have you not?" Mother Sainte Anne held up her hands in amazement and horror. "Forty years! You have not confessed once in all that time, since, since---- _Bon Dieu_, what neglect! What a sin against the soul, against the spirit of God! If you had died thus, would any prayers, my prayers, or those of your guardian angel, even, have been able to deliver you? Oh, Monsieur Gamache, Michel, my old friend, delay no longer, not a single day. The grace of God is everlasting, inextinguishable. It still pursues you; and by my voice it once more asks you to confess, to demand forgiveness, to receive absolution." The Reverend Mother was weeping, and Michel Gamache was not unmoved. Yet he could not at once rid himself of the cynicism of years, but allowed himself to doubt his best friend. "Is it that you ask this as a personal request, Reverend Mother, or merely to save another soul from Hell?" "Michel," said the old lady, in a low voice, "I have not seen you once since the day we parted, but during every day in all those years I have wished, yes, I have prayed that we might meet again in the eternal world." "Why then, Annette, did you leave me at that time, without a word?" "Michel," she replied, in a broken voice, "they told me that you had gone away in anger, and afterwards that you were dead. It was not for years, when it was too late, that I learned the truth." "Annette," said the old man, "I was always sure that there was some mistake; and always have I thought of you with the same regard, a love that will last until the end of life, and afterwards, whether in Heaven or Hell, will remain the same." "Michel, it is good to hear you talk like that, for now I know that we shall meet again in the homeland of the soul. You will go to Father Félix, will you not, this very day? You will find him in the Basilica an hour before sunset, in the little box to the right as you enter the main door. You will see him?" "At least I will visit Father Paradis at St. Placide immediately after my return." "No, Michel, do not delay. You will find Father Félix to-day, will you not, for my sake?" "Yes, Annette, I will do it for your sake--and my own."