One Saturday evening, she felt her end approaching, and
her joy was great. She sent for the priest, her mind full of a
long-cherished project, which was that during high mass on Sunday her
body should be laid upon the trestles which are used for the coffins.
It would be joy indeed to hear mass once again, even in death, to
listen to those words of consolation and those hymns of salvation;
to be present there beneath the funeral pall, amid the assembled
congregation, the family which she had so dearly loved, to hear them
all, herself unseen, while all their thoughts and prayers were for
her, to hold communion once again with these pious souls before being
laid in the earth. Her prayer was granted, and the priest pronounced a
very edifying discourse over her grave.
"The old man lived on for several years, dying inch by inch, secluded
in his house, and never conversing with the priest. He attended
church, but did not occupy his front seat. He was so strong that his
agony lasted eight or ten years.
"His walks were confined to the avenue of tall lime-trees which
skirted the manor. While pacing up and down there one day, he saw
something strange upon the horizon. It was the tricolour flag floating
from the steeple of Treguier; the Revolution of 1830 had just been
effected. When he learnt that the king was an exile, he saw only too
well that he had been bearing his part in the closing scenes of a
world. The professional duty to which he had sacrificed everything
ceased to have any object.
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