Gil,' he continued, 'run, man, to the sacristy in the Rue St.Denys, and get a Father.

Or--stay! Help to lift him under the lee of the wall there.

The wind cuts like a knife here.' The street being on the slope of the hill, the lower part of the house nearest us stood a few feet from the ground, on wooden piles, and the space underneath it, being enclosed at the back and sides, was used as a cart-house.

The servants moved the dying man into this rude shelter, and I accompanied them, being unwilling to leave the young gentleman alone.
Not wishing, however, to seem to interfere, I walked to the farther end, and sat down on the shaft of a cart, whence I idly admired the strange aspect of the group I had left, as the glare of the torch brought now one and now another into prominence, and sometimes shone on M.Francois' jewelled fingers toying with his tiny moustache, and sometimes on the writhing features of the man at his feet.
On a sudden, and before Gil had started on his errand, I saw there was a priest among them.

I had not seen him enter, nor had I any idea whence he came.