Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1885-06-15
Was it Murder---Or
Friendship I?

ny oIhoi Chi OPSh3 was paihi"'J e'o
cending the Rue Mouffetard on his
way to his church of Saint Medard.
AS he was almost certain of having
disturbed himself for nothing, he was
regretting inwardly the good fire
which he had just quilted in his little
room, and the volume he had left open
on his table, with his spectacles on
the leaves. But it was Saturday ev-
ening, day when the widows living
in the cheap boarding houses of the
neighborhood sometimes came for abb
solution before taking the communion
the following day.
The good priest, then, could not
avoid taking his place in his oaken
confessional, and opening his little
window. As the result of the bad
weather was that the street was de-
serted, the Able Faber arrived at his
church without being annoyed by
the usual Saturday-night crowds.
He dipped his forefnger in the holy
water, crossed himself, made slight
bow to the high altar, and went to-
wards his confessional.
At least he had not come for moth
ing, "a male penitent was waiting for
him. A very rare and exceptional
| thing at Saint Medard However,
perceiving by the red light of the
lamp that hung from the vault of the
chapel, the short, white jumper and
the hob-nailed shoes Of the kneeling
man, Able Faber thought it was some
workman who had kept his country
boys faith and religious practices.
Beyond doubt the confession he was
about to hear would be as common
place as that of the cook of the Rue
Monge, who, after accusing herself
of pilfering from her master, always
grumbled at the mere mention of res
titution. Accordingly the priest en-
tered the confessional, and after in
dulging in a good pinch of snuff, drew
back without any emotion the green
serge curtain that covered the win
| dow.
"Monsieur lie Cure" stammered a
rough voice which was trying to speak
low.
81 am not the cure, my friend.
Say your Confteor, and call me 'Fa-
ther.'"
The man, whose face, hidden in
shade, the Able Faber could not see,
mumbled slowly the prayer, which he
seemed to have some difficulty in re.
membering, and then went on with
his confession.
"M. lie -Fatber-eXcuse
me if | do not speak correctly, but
have not confessed for twenty-five
years-no, not since came up from
the country. You know what mer
are liz Paris. / was no worse thar
any one else. But now / have loaG
on my conscience too heavy for me
to bear alone, and you must listen te
me. Father. / have killed man =
The Able started from his seat
A murderer 1t was no longer ques
tion of inattention during worship
of gossip about neighbors and other
gatherings of old women which he
heard without attention and ahsolveC
with confidence. A murderer! Tha
brow so near to his had conceived ant
carried the thought of crime! thos'
hands clasped before his confession
al were perhaps still wet with blood
In his agitation, not unmixed will
terror, the Able Faber could only ar
ticulate the routine words: "Confess
my son the mercy of God is infinite.
S'Listen, then, to the whole story,
said the man in tone vibrating will
the deepest grief. 81 am a working
mason, and came to Paris more thai
twenty years ago, with another coun
try lad / had known since childhood
; We had robbed nests and learned t,
: read at school together. He was al
: most brother. His name was Phil
ippe-mine is Jacques. He was
great handsome fellow; was Away
hulking and awkward. No bette
workman than he, while | am only
, 'duffer;' good and brave, and wearin.
his heart on his sleeve. l was prout
of being his friend, of walking along
side of him, proud when he slapped
me on the shoulder and called me solt
hoss.' 1 loved him because / admir-
ed him. Once-what luck we wer
both hired by the same master. Still
in the evening he would leave m,
. alone three-fourths of the time h
| was amusing himself with his com
rades. He loved pleasure, which h
could enjoy, for he was free from re
sponsibilities and cares, while wa
forced to be economical, for / still
had my mother in the country, and
sent her my earnings.
; AT that time l took my meals il
| the house where lodged, and whicl
was kept by a fruit-seller who uset
to cook for the masons. Philippe dit
not dine there; he had made othe
arrangements, and to speak the truth
the cooking was not first-rate. Blu
the fruit seller was widow who wa'
not doing we'll, and to whom l sav
my custom was of service, and then
) to be frank. / had first fallen in low
with her daughter. Poor Catherine
, You will soon know, Father, wha
came of it. / waited three years
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