"My good friend," said the Cure, "it is too late to mourn for those lost
years. Nothing can give them back. As Parpon the dwarf said--you
remember him, a wise little man, that Parpon--as he said one day, 'For
everything you lose you get something, if only how to laugh at
yourself."'
Armand nodded thoughtfully and answered: "You are right--you and Parpon.
But I cannot forgive myself; he was so fine a man: tall, with a grand
look, and a tongue like a book. Yes, yes, I can laugh at myself--for a
fool."
He thrust his hands into his pockets, and tapped the ground nervously
with his foot, shrugging his shoulders a little. The priest took off his
hat and made the sacred gesture, his lips moving. Armand caught off his
hat also, and said: "You pray--for him?"
"For the peace of a good man's soul."
"He did not confess; he had no rites of the Church; he had refused you
many years."
"My son, he had a confessor."