“Have you no charity?” persuasively.

The Chevalier spread his hands in negation.  He was growing restive.

“Will you let me teach you?” Brother Jacques was expiating the sin of envy.

“You may teach, but you will find me somewhat dull in learning.”

“Do you know what charity is?”

“It is a fine word, covered with fine clothes, and goes about in pomp and glitter.  It builds in the abstract:  telescopes for the blind, lutes for the deaf, flowers for the starved.  Bah! charity has had little bearing on my life.”

“Listen,” said Brother Jacques; “of all God’s gifts to men, charity is the largest.  To recognize a sin in oneself and to forgive it in another because we possess it, that is charity.  Charity has no balances like justice; it weighs neither this nor that.  Its heart has no secret chambers; every door will open for the knocking.  Mercy is justice modified.  Charity forgives where justice punishes and mercy condones.  Your bitter words were directed against philanthropy, not charity.  Shall an old man’s repentance knock at the heart of his son and find not charity there?”

“Repentance?” So this thought was not alone his?

“You will forgive him, Monsieur . . . my brother.”

The Chevalier shook his head.  “Not to-day nor to-morrow.”

“You will not let him of your blood go down to the grave unforgiven; not when he offered this blood to avenge an insult given to you.  The reparation he has made is the best he knows.  Only forgive him and let him die in peace.  He is proud, but he is ill.  To this hour he believes that terrible struggle to be but a dream; but even the dream brings him comfort.  He is seventy; he is old.  You take the first step; come with me.  Through all your life you will look back upon this hour with happiness.  Whatever the parent’s fault may be, there is always the duty of the child toward that parent.  You will forgive him.”

“But if I go to him without forgiveness in my heart; if only my lips speak?”

“It is in your heart; you have only to look for it.”

“Ah well, I will go with you.  It is a cup of gall to drink, but I will drink it.  If he is dying . . .  Well, I will play the part; but God is witness that there is no charity in my heart, nor forgiveness, for he has wilfully spoiled my life.”

So the two men moved off toward the marquis’s bed-chamber.

“You remain in the hall, Monsieur,” said the priest, “till I call you.”  But as he entered the chamber he purposely left open the door so that the Chevalier might hear what passed.

“Ah! it is you,” said the marquis.  “Let me thank you for bringing that nurse.”

“Sister Benie?”

“Yes.  You do not know, then, from what family she originated?”

“No, Monsieur.”

“Who knows?”

“The Mother Superior.  Monsieur, I have news for you.  I bring you peace.”