"Undoubtedly, in a delirium, everything is mixed, the real and the
imagined, the memory and the fantasy, actual experience and the inner
dream-life of the mind which is so difficult to classify. It was after
that, that she made her husband promise to see her only when she was
conscious and to remain away at the last."
"It is easily understood," said the cure quietly, without change of
expression on his face that held the secrets of a thousand
confessionals. "As you say, for ten years she had lived a different
life. She was afraid that in her delirium some reference to that time
might wound unnecessarily the man who had made over her life. She had a
great courage. Peace be with her soul."
"Still,"--Doctor Kimball hesitated, as though considering the phrasing
of a delicate question; but Father Francois, making a little amical sign
of adieu, passed out of the garden, and for a moment his blank face was
illumined by one of those rare smiles, such as one sees on the faces of
holy men; smiles that seem in perfect faith to look upon the mysteries
of the world to come.
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