The physiognomy of Polidori formed a
contrast with that of the notary; nothing could be more bitterly, more
coldly ironical than the expression of this scoundrel; a forest of fiery
red hair, interspersed with some silvered locks, crowned his high and
wrinkled forehead; his penetrating eyes, green as the ocean wave, were
close to his hooked nose; his mouth, with its thin lips, expressed
wickedness and sarcasm. Polidori, completely dressed in black, was seated
beside the desk of Jacques Ferrand. At the sight of the priest they both
arose.
"Well! how do you get on, my worthy M. Ferrand?" said the abbe, with
solicitude; "are you a little better?"
"I am always in the same state, M. l'Abbe; the fever does not leave me,"
answered the notary; "the want of sleep is killing me. But the will of
heaven be done!"
"See, M. l'Abbe," added Polidori, with emphasis, "what pious resignation!
My poor friend is always the same; he only finds a solace for his
sufferings in doing good."
"I do not deserve these praises, have the goodness to dispense with them,"
said the notary, dryly, with difficulty concealing his anger. "To the Lord
alone belongs the appreciation of good and evil; I am only a miserable
sinner."
"We are all sinners," answered the abbe gently; "but we have not all the
charity which distinguishes you, my respected friend. There are very few
who, like you, dispossess themselves of so much of their earthly wealth to
employ it during their lifetime in a manner so Christian-like.
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