"I suppose you're going to tell me it's because I don't give her enough money; is that it?"

"Precisely! And that's the truth; isn't it?"

"Now none of your sermons, as I told you in the beginning; didn't I? Don't I know? Of course it troubles me to see the children with their pale faces, that used to be so rosy and fat like these two here. By the way what's your names?"

Again Celestina answered for us--"The smaller girl is the daughter of Monsieur Dumas, and the other is her cousin, Mademoiselle Paula Javanel."

"Paula Javanel! Paula Javanel!" repeated the Breton as if trying to remember something. "I think I've heard that name before," and he looked fixedly at Paula for some seconds, and then suddenly he laughed immoderately. "Yes, yes; now I remember! Ha! ha! ha! Now I know! You're the 'Cat Mother'!"

"Cat Mother!" and Celestina looked much puzzled. "What on earth do you mean?" I had completely forgotten the ridiculous nickname that the Breton's son had given her, for the boy had run away from home several years ago.

"They called me that," explained Paula, "because I once saved a cat's life."

But the strong coffee had quite restored the Breton's good humor and he hastened to add, "Yes, she did; but she hasn't told the whole story! She's the only person in the whole village that was ever brave enough to stand up to that big brat of mine. She wrenched the cat out of his hands, and the boy came back to the house, I remember well, with a pair of ears well pulled and the air of a whipped dog."

"But I didn't pull his ears," said Paula, reddening.

"Well, if you didn't, who did, then?"

But Paula shook her head and would say nothing further.

"Well, anyway, I remember that the boy was made fun of by the whole neighborhood, and to revenge himself he gave her 'Cat Mother' for a nickname. He, too, is a bad one like his father. To tell the truth he never obeyed anybody, and dear knows where he is or what he's doing now. At least he's not like you two who came here to learn how to pray with Celestina."

"Paula doesn't need to learn how to pray, Monsieur Breton," said Celestina, "she's known how to pray for years, not only for herself, but also for others."

"For years, you say! And who then taught her to pray?" said the Breton surprised.

"It was my father," said Paula quietly.

"Your father! Well, he wasn't much like me, then; was he!"

"No, he wasn't," and Paula without a sign of either fear or abhorrence looked compa.s.sionately at the brutalized face that confronted her.

"And you don't live with him any more?"

"No," said Paula; "father is in heaven."

"And whatever would you do if you had a father like me?" and the poor Breton looked at her keenly.

Paula sat a moment with closed eyes. She recalled the strong n.o.ble face and figure of her dear father and asked G.o.d to give her a reply to the poor drunkard's question.

"I think," she said at last, "I would ask G.o.d Himself to make him a man of G.o.d like my father."

"And do you believe He could do it?" The Breton looked very doubtful.

"I'm sure of it!"

"Yes, but you don't know how bad I am."

"Yes, I know," said Paula; "everybody in town knows you're a bad man, but you're no worse than the bandit who was crucified with the Lord Jesus; and yet Christ saved him; didn't He?"

"That's more or less what I am--a bandit, I suppose. I remember that story.

When I was a little boy my mother told it to me. I never thought at that time that I'd ever become the thing I am today. What would my poor mother do if she could see what had become of me?"

"Perhaps she'd pray for you," Paula said simply.

"She! Yes, I think she would have prayed for me," he said. "But why talk about my mother! I, who have just come out of prison;--hated, despised, and made a laughingstock by everybody in our neighborhood, even pointed at by the little street-urchins! My children fear me! My poor wife trembles when I appear! Who would ever think of praying for a brute like me?"

"I," said Paula with a voice vibrant with emotion.

"You? Why you scarcely know me!"

"But I do know you, and I've prayed many times for you, Monsieur Breton. Do you think it didn't distress me when they told me you had been put in the prison where people say it's so cold and dark inside, and where many die from the exposure, and what is the greater calamity--die without hope of salvation."

"And so, while I was in prison you prayed for me?"

"Well, from the time I heard about it," said Paula, "I've prayed for you every night, Monsieur Breton."

The poor fellow bowed his head. This young girl, so beautiful, so pure, so innocent, had taken him and his shame, and misery and wickedness, to the throne of Grace in her prayers each night during his recent stay in the jail!

"You! You've been praying for me!" The Breton remained silent, overcome with a greater remorse than he had ever felt in a court of justice.

"If I could believe," he said in a low voice, "that a man like me could really change--but no! That's impossible! It's too late!"

"It's not too late," Celestina said, "G.o.d pardons sinners always if they truly repent. Now you listen to what He says: 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.' And here's a bit more, 'Seek ye the Lord while He may be found, call ye upon Him while He is near; let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, and He will have mercy upon him; and to our G.o.d for He will abundantly pardon.' And then St. Paul gives us G.o.d's message also with these words:

"For this is good and acceptable in the sight of G.o.d our Saviour; who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth. For there is one G.o.d, and one Mediator between G.o.d and men, the Man Christ Jesus; who gave Himself a ransom for all" (1 Tim. 2:3-6).

"Do you really believe," said the Breton, as if in a daze, "that there's hope for such as me?"

"Yes, I do, indeed!" And here Celestina quoted,

"The Lord is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance" (2 Pet 3:9).

But the poor Breton shook his head as if to say, "It's impossible!"

Here Paula broke in, "Ask pardon now, and Jesus will pardon you! Ask it now! Surely you don't want to go on as you have done. The Lord loves you, and is waiting to save you. He shed His blood on Calvary's cross to take away the guilt of your sin. Then also, would it not be wonderful to always have bread in the house--to see that your poor wife no longer fears you, but instead, welcomes your homecoming. Ask Him now, Monsieur Breton, and He'll work the miracle in you just as He did when He made the paralyzed man to walk. You would be so much happier than you are now."

She had drawn very close to him, and now she took his great gnarled hands--those hands that so many times had worn the handcuffs. Taking them in her own beautiful ones, she raised those wonderful eyes to the brutal, bloated face, and said simply, "We will help you, Monsieur Breton!"

"And what are you going to do, Mademoiselle?"

"I don't know yet, but we'll do what we can!"

The poor fellow tried to thank her, but could not utter a word. Something in his throat seemed to be in the way, and in spite of all his efforts at self-control, great tears began to run down his cheeks.

Suddenly he turned exclaiming, "Let me alone! Don't you see you're tearing my very heart out! For thirty long years I've never shed a tear."