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She drew from her pocket a packet of notes, and put it in Luc’s hands. He took it dazedly, then dropped it, and the Little Chemist picked it up; he had no prescription like that in his pharmacopoeia.

“That’s how I’ve lived,” she said, and she handed a letter to the Cure.

It was from a priest in Montreal, setting forth the history of her career in that city, her repentance for her elopement and the sin of marrying a Protestant, and her good life. She had wished to do her penance in Pontiac, and it remained to M’sieu’ le Cure; to set it.

The Cure’s face relaxed, and a rare gentleness came into it.

He read the letter aloud. Luc once more struggled to his feet, eagerly listening.

“You did not love Luc?” the Cure asked Junie, meaningly.

“I did not love Luc–then,” she answered, a flush going over her face.

“You loved Junie?” the Cure said to Pomfrette. “I could have killed her, but I’ve always loved her,” answered Luc. Then he raised his voice excitedly: “I love her, love her, love her–but what’s the good! She’d never ‘ve been happy with me. Look what my love drove her to! What’s the good, at all!”

“She said she did not love you then, Luc Michee,” said Parpon, interrupting. “Luc Michee, you’re a fool as well as a sinner. Speak up, Junie.”

“I used to tell him that I didn’t love him; I only liked him. I was honest. Well, I am honest still. I love him now.”

A sound of joy broke from Luc’s lips, and he stretched out his arms to her, but the Cure; stopped that. “Not here,” he said. “Your sins must first be considered. For penance–” He paused, looking at the two sad yet happy beings before him. The deep knowledge of life that was in him impelled him to continue gently:

“For penance you shall bear the remembrance of each other’s sins. And now to God the Father–” He turned towards the altar, and raised his hands in the ascription.

As he knelt to pray before he entered the pulpit, he heard the tinkling of the little bell of honour at the knee of Luc, as Junie and Parpon helped him from the church.