"My good seigneurs Vagres," said the bishopess, whose comely shape was hardly distinguishable in the shadow of the vaulted door of the chapel, "long have I cursed yonder man who is my husband. I now no longer curse him. Happiness renders one indulgent. Be merciful to him, as I pardon him. For the rest, I no longer was his wife--our carnal bonds were sundered. Let him go in peace. I at last enjoy my day of freedom and of love. Long live the Vagrery!" "Shameless and sacrilegious woman! Accursed burgess! You shall burn for this in the everlasting flames of hell!" But Cautin's vituperation and threats were idle. The bishopess stepped out under the tall trees of the garden of the villa and continued her promenade, while Ronan again addressed the holy man: "Sentence shall be passed upon thee by those whom thou hast oppressed. Ye poor ecclesiastical slaves, what shall be done to this wicked and profligate religious humbug who buries the living with the dead?" "Let him be hanged! Death to the bishop!" "Yes! Yes! Let him be hanged!" "He will die but one death, the infamous scoundrel! And our lives have been one prolonged agony!" "What dost thou think of that?" said Ronan to the bishop. "Dost thou fancy the views of these poor people?" "Brothers, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, the friend of the sorrowful, pardon this guilty man if you find his repentance sincere." Who was it that spoke thus? The hermit-laborer, who had until then kept himself concealed in the shadow under one of the vaults of the chapel. As he spoke he stepped into the light and stood before the Vagres and the slaves who were venting their rage. "The hermit-laborer!" cried the slaves with touching respect. "The friend of the poor, of the meek and the oppressed!" "The consoler of those who weep!" "How often has he not taken in the field the hoe of one of our exhausted companions, and himself finished the task of the slave in order to save him from the keeper's whip!" "One day, as I was pasturing the sheep that I had in charge, two lambs went astray. The hermit-laborer looked for them until he found them and was able to bring them back to me. Blessed be he for his charity." "Our little children always have a smile for the hermit-laborer." "Oh! From the moment they see him they run to him and take hold of his robe." "As poor as any of ourselves, he loves to make little presents to the children. He always has some fruit for them that he gathered in the woods, a piece of wild honey-comb, or some little bird that has fallen out of its nest." "Love one another! Love one another like brothers, poor disinherited people! he always says to us.--Love renders toil less arduous." "Hope! he also says to us.--Hope! The rule of the oppressors will pass away; and then the first will be the last, and the last will be the first." "Jesus, the friend of the sorrowful, said the iron of the slave will be broken. Hope!"