His lips moved in prayer, but made no sound; his whole frame shook violently.
It would be unpardonable desecration to enter the chamber of Father Beret's soul and look upon his sacred and secret trouble; nor must we even speculate as to its particulars.

The good old man writhed and wrestled before the cross for a long time, until at last he seemed to receive the calmness and strength he prayed for so fervently; then he rose, tore the letter into pieces so small that not a word remained whole, and squeezed them so firmly together that they were compressed into a tiny, solid ball, which he let fall through a crack between the floor puncheons.

After waiting twenty years for that letter, hungry as his heart was, he did not even open it when at last it arrived.

He would never know what message it bore.

The link between him and the old sweet days was broken forever.