"Now," said the father superior, as coldly as ever, "I am waiting, sir, for your reply.""You shall have it in the fewest possible words," said I, answering him in his own tone."I find, to my disgust and horror, that there is an unburied corpse in an outhouse attached to your convent.I believe that corpse to be the body of an English gentleman of rank and fortune, who was killed in a duel.I have come into this neighborhood with the nephew and only relation of the slain man, for the express purpose of recovering his remains;and I wish to see the paper found on the body, because I believe that paper will identify it to the satisfaction of the relative to whom I have referred.Do you find my reply sufficiently straightforward? And do you mean to give me permission to look at the paper?""I am satisfied with your reply, and see no reason for refusing you a sight of the paper," said the father superior; "but I have something to say first.In speaking of the impression produced on you by beholding the corpse, you used the words 'disgust' and 'horror.' This license of expression in relation to what you have seen in the precincts of a convent proves to me that you are out of the pale of the Holy Catholic Church.You have no right, therefore, to expect any explanation; but I will give you one, nevertheless, as a favor.The slain man died, unabsolved, in the commission of mortal sin.We infer so much from the paper which we found on his body; and we know, by the evidence of our own eyes and ears, that he was killed on the territories of the Church, and in the act of committing direct violation of those special laws against the crime of dueling, the strict enforcement of which the holy father himself has urged on the faithful throughout his dominions by letters signed with his own hand.
Inside this convent the ground is consecrated, and we Catholics are not accustomed to bury the outlaws of our religion, the enemies of our holy father, and the violators of our most sacred laws in consecrated ground.Outside this convent we have no rights and no power; and, if we had both, we should remember that we are monks, not grave-diggers, and that the only burial with which _we_ can have any concern is burial with the prayers of the Church.That is all the explanation I think it necessary to give.
Wait for me here, and you shall see the paper." With those words the father superior left the room as quietly as he had entered it.
I had hardly time to think over this bitter and ungracious explanation, and to feel a little piqued by the language and manner of the person who had given it to me, before the father superior returned with the paper in his hand.He placed it before me on the dresser, and I read, hurriedly traced in pencil, the following lines:
"This paper is attached to the body of the late Mr.Stephen Monkton, an Englishman of distinction.He has been shot in a duel, conducted with perfect gallantry and honor on both sides.
His body is placed at the door of this convent, to receive burial at the hands of its inmates, the survivors of the encounter being obliged to separate and secure their safety by immediate flight.
I, the second of the slain man, and the writer of this explanation, certify, on my word of honor as a gentleman that the shot which killed my principal on the instant was fired fairly, in the strictest accordance with the rules laid down beforehand for the conduct of the duel.
"(Signed), F."
"F." I recognized easily enough as the initial letter of Monsieur Foulon's name, the second of Mr.Monkton, who had died of consumption at Paris.
The discovery and the identification were now complete.Nothing remained but to break the news to Alfred, and to get permission to remove the remains in the outhouse.I began almost to doubt the evidence of my own senses when I reflected that the apparently impracticable object with which we had left Naples was already, by the merest chance, virtually accomplished.
"The evidence of the paper is decisive," said I, handing it back.
"There can be no doubt that the remains in the outhouse are the remains of which we have been in search.May I inquire if any obstacles will be thrown in our way should the late Mr.Monkton's nephew wish to remove his uncle's body to the family burial-place in England?""Where is this nephew?" asked the father superior.
"He is now awaiting my return at the town of Fondi.""Is he in a position to prove his relationship?""Certainly; he has papers with him which will place it beyond a doubt.""Let him satisfy the civil authorities of his claim, and he need expect no obstacle to his wishes from any one here."I was in no humor for talking a moment longer with my sour-tempered companion than I could help.The day was wearing on me fast; and, whether night overtook me or not, I was resolved never to stop on my return till I got back to Fondi.Accordingly, after telling the father superior that he might expect to hear from me again immediately, I made my bow and hastened out of the sacristy.
At the convent gate stood my old friend with the tin snuff-box, waiting to let me out.
"Bless you, may son," said the venerable recluse, giving me a farewell pat on the shoulder, "come back soon to your spiritual father who loves you, and amiably favor him with another tiny, tiny pinch of the delectable snuff."
