The Cure's lips twitched very slightly in the dark-
ness: 'Is that all, my child?'
Tes, all except this: I laid my hands on Mir&o's
poor head and I prayed that God would be kind and
take her . . . Then she died . . . and now I am
afraid of my hands/
That is presumption, my child,' said the Cure.
And he went on to add that whenever God chose
he could end the lives of all mortal creatures, so that
Christophe must not be a foolish boy and presume to
think that his own weak hands had caused the death
of the dying Mireio. And that if he had wanted the
ointment for the dog he should have gone straight
to his mother and told her, because it was always
wrong to take things which belonged to others
without their permission; but that nevertheless his
intention had been kind —he had wanted to do
Mireio a kindness. These and other very. similar
remarks he made, and all the while he was thinking
of Bobby. cBien,9 he concluded, 'if you have con-
fessed every sin that you find yourself able to remem-
ber, then make a good act of contrition, my son; and
for your penance say three Hail Marys in honour of
the Holy Trinity. And now I will give you absolution/
When it had been given Christophe thanked the
priest.
'Say a little prayer for me,5 murmured the Cure.
So Christophe went forth absolved of his sins, and
having received the Cure's blessing. The light
lay golden over Saint Loup, golden over the red-
tiled Provencal roofs that covered the houses at such
queer angles, golden over the warm and tideless
sea, golden over the stern but protective mountains
— for as those who have been to that town will
remember, the light is generally golden in the even-
ing. Yet although he was now feeling brand new
throughout, the result of so good and careful a con-
L 161