Then Christophe prayed rather recklessly, so urgent,
so great was his need at that moment: 'Oh, Saint Loup
if I have to go on feeling sorry ... If I have to go on,
then please make me feel brave like you must have
felt when you drove back the heathen. But I do not
want to feel sorry any more — I want to be like all
the other boys — and I do not want to know about
pain, especially about Mireio's pain. And I want to
leave my brother at home when I play, because he is
weak and spoils all our fun; I want him to stay at
home, please, with our mother. Saint Loup, you
were very different from me, for you were a splendid,
powerful saint who could easily have healed poor
Mireio's sores, and made le tout petit Loup grow
strong, and taken the hump away from the violinist.
But I can do nothing — nothing at all — that is why
I am often terribly unhappy. Perhaps you could
speak to our dear Lord Jesus and ask Him to let me
be more like Jan; Jan is not at all worried about sad
things and yet, as you know, he is very religious.
Our Lord will undoubtedly listen to you, because you
put up a cross near the town to show Him that you
had defended the Christians. Oh, but yes, He will
listen to all you say, I know He will listen . . . Saint
Loup, please ask Him!5
He stopped praying, and finding two sous in his
pocket, proceeded to light a votive candle: 'That
should help him to remember,' he thought to himself,
feeling that a saint who heard so many prayers might
possibly need a tactful reminder.
The saint watched him with those motionless
wooden eyes from which the years have wiped all
expression. Then the candle burnt up revealing a
form that must once^have been very golden and
splendid —in his left hand this soldier of Christ
holds a cross, but his right hand is clasped round
the hilt of a sword with which he may quite well have
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