“Monseigneur exacts my death,” replied the rector. “I have already refused the entreaties of the family to visit their unhappy son. Such a conference and the sight of his death would shatter me like glass. Every man must work as he can. The weakness of my organs, or rather, the too great excitability of my nervous organization, prevents me from exercising these functions of our ministry. I have remained a simple rector expressly to be useful to my kind in a sphere in which I can really accomplish my Christian duty. I have carefully considered how far I could satisfy this virtuous family and do my pastoral duty to this poor son; but the very idea of mounting the scaffold with him, the mere thought of assisting in those fatal preparations, sends a shudder as of death through my veins. It would not be asked of a mother; and remember, monsieur, he was born in the bosom of my poor church.” “So,” said the Abbe Gabriel, “you refuse to obey Monseigneur?” “Monseigneur is ignorant of the state of my health; he does not know that in a constitution like mine nature refuses--” said Monsieur Bonnet, looking at the younger priest. “There are times when we ought, like Belzunce at Marseille, to risk certain death,” replied the Abbe Gabriel, interrupting him. At this moment the rector felt a hand pulling at his cassock; he heard sobs, and turning round he saw the whole family kneeling before him. Young and old, small and great, all were stretching their supplicating hands to him. One sole cry rose from their lips as he turned his face upon them:-- “Save his soul, at least!” The old grandmother it was who had pulled his cassock and was wetting it with her tears. “I shall obey, monsieur.” That said, the rector was forced to sit down, for his legs trembled under him. The young secretary explained the frenzied state of the criminal’s mind. “Do you think,” he said, as he ended his account, “that the sight of his young sister would shake his determination?” “Yes, I do,” replied the rector. “Denise, you must go with us.” “And I, too,” said the mother. “No!” cried the father; “that child no longer exists for us, and you know it. None of us shall see him.” “Do not oppose what may be for his salvation,” said the young abbe. “You will be responsible for his soul if you refuse us the means of softening it. His death may possibly do more injury than his life has done.” “She may go,” said the father; “it shall be her punishment for opposing all the discipline I ever wished to give her son.” The Abbe Gabriel and Monsieur Bonnet returned to the parsonage, where Denise and her mother were requested to come in time to start for Limoges with the two ecclesiastics.