"I am no priest," says he, "God knows; but I cannot put a man's body
into the earth without in some sort commending his soul. I must do
what I can, and you must pardon an indifferent advocate, as God will."
"If you are advised by me," said the lady, "you will leave that affair
where it is. The man was worthless."
"We cannot measure his worth, madam: we have no tools for that. The
utmost we can do is to bury part of him, and pray for the other part."
"You speak as a priest whom I had thought a soldier," said she with
some asperity. "If you are what you now seem, I will remind you of a
saying which should be familiar--Let the dead bury their dead."
"As I live by bread," Prosper cried out, "I will commend this man's
soul whither it is going."
"Then I will not listen to you, sir," she answered in a pale fume. "I
cannot listen to you."
Prosper grew extremely polite. "Madam, there is surely no need," he
said. "If you cannot you will not. Moreover, I should in any case
address myself elsewhere."
He had folded the dead man's arms over his breast, and shut his eyes.
He had wiped his lips. The thing seemed more at peace. So he crossed
himself and began, In nomine patris, etc., and then recited the
Paternoster. This almost exhausted his stock, though it did not
satisfy his aspirations. His words burst from him. "O thou pitiful
dead!" he cried out, "go thou where Pity is, in the hope some morsels
may be justly thine. Rest thou there, who wast not restful in thine
end, and quitted not willingly thy tenement; rest thou there till thou
art called. And when thou art called to give an account of thyself and
thine own works, may that which men owe thee be remembered with that
which thou dost owe! Per Christum dominum," etc.
He bowed his head, crossed himself very piously; then stood still,
smiling gently upon the man he knew nothing of, save that he had been
young and had lost his race. He did not see the lady; she was,
however, near by, not looking at the man at the grave, but first at
Prosper and then at the ground. Her fingers were twisting and tangling
together, and her bosom, restless as the sea, rose and fell fitfully.
She was pale, save at the lips; like Prosper she smiled, but the smile
was stiff. Prosper set to work with the shovel and soon filled up the
grave. Then he turned to the lady.