A tall figure came down the aisle and the penitents stirred; and at the last moment, glancing up swiftly, he saw a long grey beard and the brown habit of a capuchin.  The priest entered the box and was hidden.  Two penitents rose and entered the confessional at either side.  The wooden slide was drawn back and the faint murmur of a voice troubled the silence.

His blood began to murmur in his veins, murmuring like a sinful city summoned from its sleep to hear its doom.  Little flakes of fire fell and powdery ashes fell softly, alighting on the houses of men.  They stirred, waking from sleep, troubled by the heated air.

The slide was shot back.  The penitent emerged from the side of the box.  The farther side was drawn.  A woman entered quietly and deftly where the first penitent had knelt.  The faint murmur began again.

He could still leave the chapel.  He could stand up, put one foot before the other and walk out softly and then run, run, run swiftly through the dark streets.  He could still escape from the shame.  Had it been any terrible crime but that one sin!  Had it been murder!  Little fiery flakes fell and touched him at all points, shameful thoughts, shameful words, shameful acts.  Shame covered him wholly like fine glowing ashes falling continually.  To say it in words!  His soul, stifling and helpless, would cease to be.

The slide was shot back.  A penitent emerged from the farther side of the box.  The near slide was drawn.  A penitent entered where the other penitent had come out.  A soft whispering noise floated in vaporous cloudlets out of the box.  It was the woman:  soft whispering cloudlets, soft whispering vapour, whispering and vanishing.

He beat his breast with his fist humbly, secretly under cover of the wooden armrest.  He would be at one with others and with God.  He would love his neighbour.  He would love God who had made and loved him.  He would kneel and pray with others and be happy.  God would look down on him and on them and would love them all.

It was easy to be good.  God’s yoke was sweet and light.  It was better never to have sinned, to have remained always a child, for God loved little children and suffered them to come to Him.  It was a terrible and a sad thing to sin.  But God was merciful to poor sinners who were truly sorry.  How true that was!  That was indeed goodness.

The slide was shot to suddenly.  The penitent came out.  He was next.  He stood up in terror and walked blindly into the box.

At last it had come.  He knelt in the silent gloom and raised his eyes to the white crucifix suspended above him.  God could see that he was sorry.  He would tell all his sins.  His confession would be long, long.  Everybody in the chapel would know then what a sinner he had been.  Let them know.  It was true.  But God had promised to forgive him if he was sorry.  He was sorry.  He clasped his hands and raised them towards the white form, praying with his darkened eyes, praying with all his trembling body, swaying his head to and fro like a lost creature, praying with whimpering lips.