"No hope," said Malivoire, with a gesture of despair; "there is nothing to be done. It began at his right ankle, went up the leg and thigh, and has attacked all the articulations. Such agonies, poor fellow! It will be a mercy when it's over." "Will he be dead before night?" asked the Sister calmly. "Oh no! He will live through the night. It is the same case as that of Raguideau three years ago; and Raguideau lasted forty-eight hours." That evening, at ten o'clock, Sister Philomène might be seen entering the church of Notre Dame des Victoires. The lamps were being lowered, the lighted tapers were being put out one by one with a long-handled extinguisher. The priest had just left the vestry. The Sister inquired where he lived, and was told that his house was a couple of steps from the church, in the Rue de la Banque. The priest was just going into the house when she entered behind, pushing open the door he was closing. "Come in, Sister," he said, unfurling his wet umbrella and placing it on the tiled floor in the ante-room. And he turned toward her. She was on her knees. "What are you doing, Sister?" he said, astonished at her attitude. "Get up, my child. This is not a fit place. Come, get up!" "You will save him, will you not?" and Philomène caught hold of the priest's hands as he stretched them out to help her to rise. "Why do you object to my remaining on my knees?"[Pg 6558] "Come, come, my child, do not be so excited. It is God alone, remember, who can save. I can but pray." "Ah! you can only pray," she said in a disappointed tone. "Yes, that is true." And her eyes sank to the ground. After a moment's pause the priest went on:— "Come, Sister, sit down there. You are calmer now, are you not? Tell me, what is it you want?" "He is dying," said Philomène, rising as she spoke. "He will probably not live through the night;" and she began to cry. "It is for a young man of twenty-seven years of age; he has never performed any of his religious duties, never been near a church, never prayed to God since his first communion. He will refuse to listen to anything. He no longer knows a prayer even. He will listen neither to priest nor any one. And I tell you it is all over with him,—he is dying. Then I remembered your Confraternity of Notre Dame des Victoires, since it is devoted to those who do not believe. Come, you must save him!" "My daughter—" "And perhaps he is dying at this very moment. Oh! promise me you will do all at once, all that is in the Confraternity book; the prayers,—everything, in short. You will have him prayed for at once, won't you?" "But, my poor child, it is Friday to-day, and the Confraternity only meets on Thursday." "Thursday only—why? It will be too late Thursday. He will never live till Thursday. Come, you must save him; you have saved many another."