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The Little Bell Of Honour
by
“It is the only one he has, eh?” answered Parpon. His eyes were fixed meaningly on those of Pomfrette.
“It is no excuse,” repeated the Cure sternly. “The blasphemy is horrible, a shame and stigma upon Pontiac for ever.” He looked Pomfrette in the face. “Foul-mouthed and wicked man, it is two years since you took the Blessed Sacrament. Last Easter day you were in a drunken sleep while Mass was being said; after the funeral of your own father you were drunk again. When you went away to the woods you never left a penny for candles, nor for Masses to be said for your father’s soul; yet you sold his horse and his little house, and spent the money in drink. Not a cent for a candle, but–“
“It’s a lie,” cried Pomfrette, shaking with rage from head to foot.
A long horror-stricken “Ah!” broke from the crowd. The Cure’s face became graver and colder.
“You have a bad heart,” he answered, “and you give Pontiac an evil name. I command you to come to Mass next Sunday, to repent and to hear your penance given from the altar. For until–“
“I’ll go to no Mass till I’m carried to it,” was the sullen, malevolent interruption.
The Cure turned upon the people.
“This is a blasphemer, an evil-hearted, shameless man,” he said. “Until he repents humbly, and bows his vicious spirit to holy Church, and his heart to the mercy of God, I command you to avoid him as you would a plague. I command that no door be opened to him; that no one offer him comfort or friendship; that not even a bon jour or a bon soir pass between you. He has blasphemed against our Father in heaven; to the Church he is a leper.” He turned to Pomfrette. “I pray God that you have no peace in mind or body till your evil life is changed, and your black heart is broken by sorrow and repentance.”
Then to the people he said again: “I have commanded you for your souls’ sake; see that you obey. Go to your homes. Let us leave the leper–alone.” He waved the awed crowd back.
“Shall we take off the little bell?” asked Lajeunesse of the Cure.
Pomfrette heard, and he drew himself together, his jaws shutting with ferocity, and his hand flying to the belt where his voyageur’s case-knife hung. The Cure did not see this. Without turning his head towards Pomfrette, he said:
“I have commanded you, my children. Leave the leper alone.”
Again he waved the crowd to be gone, and they scattered, whispering to each other; for nothing like this had ever occurred in Pontiac before, nor had they ever seen the Cure with this granite look in his face, or heard his voice so bitterly hard.
He did not move until he had seen them all started homewards from the Four Corners. One person remained beside him–Parpon the dwarf.
“I will not obey you, M’sieu’ le Cure,” said he. “I’ll forgive him before he repents.”
“You will share his sin,” answered the Cure sternly. “No; his punishment, M’sieu’,” said the dwarf; and turning on his heel, he trotted to where Pomfrette stood alone in the middle of the road, a dark, morose figure, hatred and a wild trouble in his face.
Already banishment, isolation, seemed to possess Pomfrette, to surround him with loneliness. The very effort he made to be defiant of his fate appeared to make him still more solitary. All at once he thrust a hand inside his red shirt, and, giving a jerk which broke a string tied round his neck, he drew forth a little pad–a flat bag of silk, called an Agnus Dei, worn as a protection and a blessing by the pious, and threw it on the ground. Another little parcel he drew from his belt, and ground it into the dirt with his heel. It contained a woman’s hair. Then, muttering, his hands still twitching with savage feeling, he picked up his cap, covered with dirt, put it on, and passed away down the road towards the river, the little bell tinkling as he went. Those who heard it had a strange feeling, for already to them the man was as if he had some baleful disease, and this little bell told of the passing of a leper.