IT

CHAPTER X.

(Continued.)

THE SILVER-HEADED STAFF.

T happened the next morning that Father Francis received a visit from the Chevalier de Parelles, or Parelli. He was of the family of the Marquis de Parelles, who had commanded part of the force in 1686. The Chevalier, however, though he had carried out his orders as a soldier, was a man naturally kind and humane. He had been put in charge of one of the detachments of Vaudois prisoners, who, finally released from the prisons of Turin, had been sent over Mont Cenis into Switzerland, in February, 1687, and his kindness and that of his cousin, Capt. Carrel, was attested by a letter of thanks signed by the exiles themselves.

The Provincial received his visitors, not in the convent parlor, but in the room especially set apart for his use. Laurent, now regularly established as his attendant, since he had not been dismissed, sat in a corner, busy with the Latin which he was presently to read to Father Paul.

The Chevalier was a handsome, gallant gentleman; and Laurent, who had seen nothing but monks for so long, could not but admire the soldier, even though his name was de Parelles.

"And what is the news in the capital, Chevalier?" asked the Provincial, "since I understand you have recently been there?"

"O, every one is asking when we are to have you, Reverend Father, back in the pulpit ?"

"Indeed I do not know," said Father Francis, languidly. "When my superiors send for me, I suppose. I hope the city has something better to talk of than of my motions."

"Faith, it is rather dull now. The rage for conversion of heretics has a good

deal gone down," said the frank soldier, who, though a good Catholic, was not afraid of a monk. "Your pardon, Reverend Father; but you know there is a fashion in religion as in everything else, and the noble ladies grow tired of their pets and playthings, the Vaudois they adopted and converted, as they do of their parrots and lap dogs. I think the ones that stood it out-and they were many-had the best of it at last. I suppose I may say so, since Father Valfredo, the Duke's confessor, and Father Morand* tried to do what they could for the poor souls in prison; and a great many of the pious think it very odd that two such holy men should have made no difference between those who were converted and those who remained obstinate. You, Reverend Father, I suppose, are too devotedly a son of the Church to approve such lenity."

"God forbid," said the Provincial, a faint flush rising to his pale cheek. "It is a good and Christian work."

Nearly all the prisoners are gone now, except the ministers, who are prisoners still. Two or three of them are in Switzerland, though-that Arnaud among them. My word, he will make trouble for the Duke yet. If ever I saw a man born to command it is he."

Laurent listened with a beating heart, and longed to question the Chevalier, which was of course impossible.

At that moment the Superior entered the room, and after a little careless talk with the Chevalier, bethought himself to ask whether the Provincial would see the Curé of Prali, who had come to pay his respects.

Laurent could not hear quite unmoved of one who had taken his father's place, and he was not sorry when the Provincial, after some hesitation, ex

Fact. I have been unable to discover whether these two good men were monastic or secular.

man.

"I would not, if I did not feel able," said Father Bernard. "He is no great ornament to Holy Orders, and to speak truth, hardly fit to be under the same roof as yourself. The saints know I make no great pretensions to sanctity, but a man may live without scandal; but what can you expect of a secular?" concluded the Superior, as though no one ever heard of a scandal within monastic ranks.

"He has come a long way I suppose," said Father Francis, languidly, for he had had a bad night, and was tired.

"He can go back again, if such is your pleasure," said the placid Superior. 'By the way, barbet," he added, turning to Laurent, "Was not Prali your father's place?"

"Yes, Signor," said Laurent, who could not say "Father" just at that moment.

The Chevalier, who had taken Laurent in his frock for a novice, turned and looked at him with interest.

"And this Curé wishes to ask some questions about the house and the people. Let the boy go to him, Reverend Father, and don't trouble yourself."

Father Bernard meant no harm by this proposition, but as a priest and a noble, it did not occur to him that a Vaudois had any feelings worth his consideration.

"Perhaps I had better see him my self," said Father Francis. "What is his name?"

"Pinelli, only do not let him tire you; that is all," said Father Bernard, who had as much respect and liking for his Superior as it was in his lazy nature to feel for any one.

The Curé entered. He was the type of the very worst class of the priesthood. Originally a peasant, a hanger on of a noble family, he had barely education enough to take orders. He had a brutal, coarse, sensual look-dashed at the moment by some embarrassment at finding himself in so distingushed a presence.

The elegant Superior hardly troubled himself to be civil; the Chevalier took

The thought of such a creature as that in his father's place was hard for Laurent to bear. But there was another circumstance about the Curé which moved the boy's heart almost past endurance. In his hand he carried a staff with a chased silver head, which had belonged to Laurent's father and grandfather, and was the one piece of plate, if it could be so called, which the Leidets had possessed. It brought up before him most vividly the image of his lost home, and though he kept his eyes fixed on the page before him, he saw not a word or a letter.

After some little conversation, not very well sustained on either side, the Curé began to complain of Prali, saying what a poor parish it was, and how with all that could be screwed out of the people, he could hardly get enough to live.

"I had what was in the house to be sure, but it was poor stuff, poor stuff. The only thing of any value was this staff, which belonged to the old barbe; and by the way, is his son here?"

Father Francis did not answer on the moment, and the Superior beckoned Laurent to come forward.

The Chevalier began to twist his mustache and to regard the Cure with an expression betokening anything but respect. Laurent received a warning glance from Father Francis as he rose, but understanding his protector as he did, he saw that under all his selfrestraint the monk was as much excited as himself.

"O, you barbet," said the Curé, "I want a servant over there who knows the ways of the place, and the brotherhood must be tired of keeping such a stout young fellow as you in idleness. I am willing to take you, and will give you your living, and will do well by you if you are faithful; and if you are not, why I can correct you with this staff, whose weight, I dare say, you have felt before."

Happily for Laurent, perhaps, he literally for a moment, could not speak.

"Now by the Virgin!" burst out the

Chevalier, in indignation. Even the Superior looked disgusted with this brutality. The Provincial's eyes flashed firethe color rose to his cheek, and it seemed for one moment as if he were actually about to lay violent hands upon the man before him, who stood astonished at the storm he had raised. The next instant Father Francis controlled himself, and turning to Laurent, laid his hand on the boy's lips to repress the words which in another moment would have found vent, regardless of all consequences. "Hush, my son," he said with authority, "and go to Father Paul.”

Laurent turned to obey, and the Chevalier, who stood near the door, opened it for him; for in truth poor Laurent's emotion was such that he could hardly

see.

"God guard you, Signor," said the soldier, audibly.

on

Laurent bowed, quite unable to reply, and hurried away. Father Paul hearing the story, was filled with pity and such indignation as so gentle a soul could feel. He soothed and comforted, and administered such gentle spiritual medicines as he possessed, but though Laurent thanked him for his sympathy, his old love of his own faith, his horror of the Romish system was awakened afresh, and he felt no longer like the pupil and disciple of Father Francis, but like the son of the Vaudois pastor, a man "stablished, strengthened, and settled" in the spirit of steady resolution which for centuries has marked his race. "We will not talk of it, dear Father," he said to the old monk. "Give me something to do, and let me get quiet if I can."

Ah, so we will, my dear boy. You shall copy out these notes for me that I have made on these passages in Livy. There, I left the roll of papers in the parlor, when I was there with the scholar from France who came to see me about the chronicle of Gaultier, of Aquitaine; but it is not here, it is over in Novaliesi, so I have heard. Run to the parlor for me and get them—you will find them on the table."

Laurent went and found in the parlor the Chevalier and the Superior, and the

latter in conversation with an officer who had accompanied De Parelles.

"And have you taken the robe, Monsieur Leidet?" asked the Chevalier, courteously.

"I, Seigneur?" said Laurent, proudly. "Surely not; I wear what is given me to wear, since I am a prisoner. My inheritance, such as it was, is in the hands of the Curé of Prali," concluded the Vaudois, with some haughtiness.

"Bah! He is an animal, said the Chevalier, disgusted, "But have you not conformed, then?"

"No, Seigneur."

Good Catholic as he was, the Chevalier did not look displeased. "But how do I then find you in attendance upon the Provincial?" he asked, as if surprised.

"The Reverend Father has been most kind to me, Seigneur," said Laurent.

"Has he, indeed," said Parelles, twisting his mustache. "Well, wonders will never cease. Now I would have sworn that he would not have had a barbet in the house with him, at least one so obstinate as you have been. My word, you proved yourself your father's son. He was a brave man, though a heretic."

"Did you know my father, Seigneur," said Laurent.

"I knew of him; but it puzzles me that our Reverend Father should have taken you under his protection, knowing whose son you were."

"Why, Seigneur?" asked Laurent, surprised in his turn, "He is one of the kindest of men."

The Chevalier opened his eyes at Laurent in wonder.

"In a way, doubtless, but surely you know that he has preached extermination of heresy with fire and sword, and was the greatest favorite with the pious ladies of the Propaganda-of whom, of course, I speak with respect. But I tell you, Signor Leidet," said the soldier, frankly, "I do think but for the priests and the women, your people would have been suffered to dwell in peace; but when the two join their forces, they raise the devil, and surely you know no one supported the French Ambassador more warmly than Father Francis."

"I think it must be a mistake, Seigneur," said Laurent, bewildered.

"If you had heard him preach, as I have, you would know better; but it is not my affair. Truly, I think he was no better pleased than I with the Curé and his brutality; and by the way, he must take thought for you, for he asked me to get from that fellow the staff which he said had been your father's-and I did 80."

"You are most kind, Seigneur," said Laurent, gratefully," but I can never recompense you. I have nothing of my own in the world, but if ever I can"

"Ah, it is nothing," said the soldier, lightly. "You will listen to the good Father's advice and conform yet, I hope." "No, Seigneur, I think not.' "Well, you must go your own way, and I am glad the Father has taken a fancy for you. Of a certainty he is a holy man, and keeps his vows like St. Francis himself. God be with you. Come, Captain, we must be going."

The Superior turned to Laurent"You need not be troubled," he said in a kinder tone than he had ever used toward the boy, "I would not send a dog to live with that man; and you are a good lad and a faithful. Go to Father Paul with his papers, and peace be with you." "Thanks, Reverend Father," said Laurent, somewhat touched and a good deal amazed by such unwonted animation on the part of Father Bernard, and then returned to the library with the notes on Livy.

CHAPTER XI.

SHADOWS.

Laurent went back to Father Paul a good deal perplexed and troubled in mind by what he had heard, but he was not left long to his meditations, for a message came to him that Father Francis was ill, and desired his attendance.

Laurent found his protector lying back among his pillows, looking more dead than alive, in one of those attacks of faintness, exhaustion, and agonizing headache, which had more than once brought Father Francis to the brink of the grave.

Brother Augustine was fussing about the room, and, with the best intentions, driving the sufferer half wild. The physician, who had been sent for in haste, was kneeling beside his patient, looking rather troubled.

"He preferred to come here," said Brother Augustine to Laurent, for Father Francis had caused himself to be brought into the oratory. "He will find his best help in the crucifix and the contemplation of the suffering mother of God. Ave Maria! ora pro nobis," said Augustine, crossing himself. "Dear and Reverend Father, is there nothing I can do for you?"

"Go and say the rosary for me before the altar in the chapel, good brother," faltered poor Father Francis, perhaps as much for the sake of sending away the sub-prior as with any confidence in the rosary. "Pray that I may be able to endure with patience."

"I will, I will, Reverend Father," said Augustine, who was a truly devout man in his fashion. "The saints grant us grace to profit by the contemplation of your holy humility and resignation!" and the sub-prior departed shaking his head.

"It is all the sight of that miserable fellow from Prali," thought Augustine to himself, "and this unhappy affair of Brother Antonio. The very sight of sin seems to affect him, he has attained such a degree of sanctity; but dear me, if we were all like that, how would anything ever get done in the world?" and with this practical reflection Augustine betook himself to his devotions.

"Keep every one else out," said the physician to Laurent. "What he wants most of anything is to be quiet. I will give orders that you are not disturbed. It's a blessing he has you with him, young man, or they would worry his life out. You have some sense," continued the doctor, "and can do more to keep him quiet, I know, than any one else. He has tired himself out again, or he has had some shock which has prostrated him. Do not be alarmed if his mind wanders, but keep him still."

The doctor went away after a little,

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promising to return before long, and left Father Francis in Laurent's care.

"Do not desert me," said the priest, in a faint whisper, as they were left alone. "Never, dear Father," said Laurent, kissing his hand.

"Ah, if you but knew all," sighed Father Francis, "but I will save you, Laurent, or I will die with you.' "No one wishes to hurt me, Reverend Father," said Laurent, gently. "Ah, you don't know-you don't know," said Father Francis, with a moan; "and I am helpless, helpless for good, and I was so strong for evil. O, my head!"

I am losing my senses; and O, what will become of you?"

"Dear Father, you are tired, you are ill," said Laurent, soothing him. "You will be better when the sun goes down.'

"Do you remember," continued the monk, holding Laurent's hand close in his own, "the story of the warrior who became a monk, and for penance fought the whole night long with the spirits of those he had slain? That is what I have done, only that my penance has never ended."

'Father," said Laurent, in distress lest some one should hear the Provincial's strange words, "Think where you are.” "I do know-I do," said the sufferer,

"And He went and preached to such, dear Father Francis,' said Laurent, hardly knowing what words he used in his distress and anxiety.

With a mixture of feeling and impulse which he hardly understood, he bent down and kissed his friend with intense sympathy and affection.

"Who was that?" said the Provincial, with a faint whisper.

"It is I, dear Father-Laurent." "And you will forgive me now you know," said the monk wistfully.

Surely," said Laurent, "hardly knowing what it was he was asked to pardon. 66 And your father-do you think he would pardon if he knew all?"

"I am certain of it," said Laurent. "When you and he meet in heaven, where all the pure in heart shall see God, you will understand each other."

"You will stay with me yet?" murmured Father Francis, who, though not exactly delirious, seemed to have lost his usual stern self-command.

"Indeed I will; but do not talk, Reverend Father. You will make yourself worse."

“O, my head!" said poor Father Francis, pressing his hands to his forehead. "What shall I do?" What shall I do?

"It is true!-ah, well!" sighed the priest. "There! I will be quiet; but stay with me yet for a little."

He spoke no more, but lay silent, bearing his pain without a murmur. Laurent was filled with compassion for the sufferings which he thought he now comprehended, and no shadow of resentment found place in his soul. But he was as yet far from understanding the truth.

Toward evening Father Francis seemed in some degree released from his pain, and to be once more himself.

"I have talked somewhat wildly, I fear, my son," he said to Laurent. "Has any one been with me but yourself?"

"No, Reverend Father, not since the doctor went away; only some of the brotherhood to inquire for you."

"Ah, they are kind, Laurent; the Chevalier bought your father's staff for you from that man. It is there in the corner!"

"At your request, was it not, Father?" said Laurent, kneeling beside his patient. "How can I thank you for all your care of me?"

"You do not know all, my boy," said the Father. "If I had had the least idea of what that man was-"