(V)
He awoke the next morning after a troubled night, consciousinstantly of a sense of crisis. In one way or another, it seemed,he would have to come to a decision. The monk would be with himin less than an hour.
He dressed as before and breakfasted. Then, as the monk did notcome, he went out to the tribune to pray and to prepare himself.
Ten minutes later the door opened quietly, and the lay-brotherwho had attended on him bowed to him as he turned, in sign thathe was to come.
The monk was standing by the fireplace as he came in; he bowedvery slightly. Then the two sat down.
* * * * *
"Tell me why you have come here, Monsignor."
The prelate moistened his lips. He was aware again of an emotionthat was partly terror and partly confidence. And there was mixedwith it, too, an extraordinary sense of simplicity.Conventionalities were useless here, he saw; he was expected tosay what was in his heart, but at first he dared not.
"I . . . I was recommended to come," he said. "My friends thoughtI needed a little rest."
The other nodded gently. He was no longer looking straight athim, the secular priest was relieved to see.
"Yes? And what form does it take?"
Still the patient hesitated. He began a sentence or two,and stopped again.
Then the monk lifted his great head and looked straight at him.
"Be quite simple, Monsignor," he said, "you need fear nothing.You are here to be helped, are you not? Then tell me plainly."
Monsignor got up suddenly. It seemed to him that he must moveabout. He felt restless, as a man who has lived in twilight mightfeel upon coming out into sudden brilliant and healthfulsunlight. He began to walk to and fro. The other said nothing,but the restless man felt that the eyes were watching andfollowing every movement. He reflected that it was unfair to bestared at by eyes that were grey, outlined in black, and crossedby straight lids. Then he summoned his resolution.
"Father," he said, "I am unhappy altogether."
"Yes? (Sit down, please, Monsignor.)"
He sat down, and leaned his forehead on his hands.
"You are unhappy altogether," repeated the monk. "And what formdoes that unhappiness take?"
Monsignor lifted his face.
"Father," he said, "you know about me? You know about myhistory? . . . My memory?"
"Yes, I know all that. But it is not that which makes you unhappy?"
"No," cried the priest suddenly and impulsively, "it is notthat. I wish to God it were! I wish to God my memory wouldleave me again!"
"Quietly, please."
But the other paid no attention.
"It is . . . it is the world I am living in--this brutalworld.... Father, help me."
The monk drew a breath and leaned back, and his movement had theeffect of a call for silence. Neither spoke for a moment.
Then----
"Just tell me quite simply, from the beginning," said the monk.