This priest must be a
nightmare, another of those phantoms which were crowding around his bed.
"How I longed for riches, luxury, content! For had I not your blood in
my veins and were not my desires natural? I became a priest because I
could starve no longer without dying. I have seen your true son in the
forests, have called him brother, though he did not understand. You
cursed him and made him an outcast, wilfully. I was starving as a lad
of two. My mother, Margot Bourdaloue, went out in search of bread. I
followed, but became lost. I never saw my mother again; I can not even
remember how she looked. I can only recall the starved eyes. And you
cursed your acknowledged son and applied to him the epithet which I
have borne these twenty years. Unnatural father!"
"Unnatural son," murmured the marquis.
"I have suffered!" Brother Jacques flung his arms above his head as if
to hurl the trembling curse. "No; I shall not curse you. You do not
believe in God. Heaven and hell have no meaning."
"I loved your mother."
"Love? That is a sacred word, Monsieur; you soil it. What was it you
said that night at Rochelle? .
Pages:
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572