'Then I'll go into the kitchen,' said the Jew, and took up his bundle. The sledge-bells tinkled at the door, the valet stood ready with the fur coat. 'I shall be wanted for the betrothal,' reflected the priest, 'that man will last till to-morrow, and I can't bring the dead woman back to life. It's eight o'clock, if I go to the man first there will be nothing to go for afterwards. Give me my fur coat, Walenty.' He went into his bedroom: 'Are the horses ready? Is it a bright night?' 'Quite bright, your Reverence.' 'I cannot be the slave of all the people who are burnt down and all the women who die,' he agitatedly resumed his thoughts, 'it will be time enough to-morrow, and anyhow the man can't be worth much if no one will help him.'...His eyes fell on the crucifix. 'Divine wounds! Here I am hesitating between my amusement and comforting the stricken, and I am a priest and a citizen! Get a basket,' he said in a changed voice to the astonished servant, 'put the rest of the dinner into it. I had better take the sacrament too,' he thought, after the surprised man had left the room, 'perhaps he is dying. God is giving me another spell of grace instead of condemning me eternally.' He struck his breast and forgot that God does not count the number of amusements preferred and bottles emptied, but the greatness of the struggle in each human heart. CHAPTER XI Within half an hour the priest's round ponies stood at Slimak's gate. The priest walked towards the stable with a lantern in one hand and a basket in the other, pushed open the door with his foot, and saw Slimakowa's body. Further away, on the litter, sat the peasant, shading his eyes from the light. 'Who is that?' he asked. 'It is I, your priest.' Slimak sprang to his feet, with deep astonishment on his face. He advanced with unsteady steps to the threshold, and gazed at the priest with open mouth. 'What have you come for, your Reverence?' 'I have come to bring you the divine blessing. Put on your sheepskin, it is cold here. Have something to eat.' He unpacked the basket. Slimak stared, touched the priest's sleeve, and suddenly fell sobbing at his feet. 'I am wretched, your Reverence...I am wretched...wretched!' 'Benedicat te omnipotens Deus!' Instead of making the sign of the cross, the priest put his arm round the peasant and drew him on to the threshold. 'Calm yourself, brother, all will be well. God does not forsake His children.' He kissed him and wiped his tears. With almost a howl the peasant threw himself at his feet. 'Now I don't mind if I die, or if I go to hell for my sins! I've had this consolation that your Reverence has taken pity on me. If I were to go to the Holy City on my knees, it would not be enough to repay you for your kindness.' He touched the ground at the priest's feet as though it were the altar. The priest had to use much persuasion before he put on his sheepskin and consented to touch food. 'Take a good pull,' he said, pouring out the mead.