I found nothing worth notice in the church, and was about to
leave it again, when I caught a glimpse of a pretty view through
a side door, and stopped to admire it.

The churchyard formed the foreground, and below it the hill-side
sloped away gently into the plain, over which the sun was setting
in full glory. The cure of the church was reading his breviary,
walking up and down a gravel-path that parted the rows of graves.
In the course of my wanderings I had learned to speak French as
fluently as most Englishmen, and when the priest came near me I
said a few words in praise of the view, and complimented him on
the neatness and prettiness of the churchyard. He answered with
great politeness, and we got into conversation together
immediately.

As we strolled along the gravel-walk, my attention was attracted
by one of the graves standing apart from the rest. The cross at
the head of it differed remarkably, in some points of appearance,
from the crosses on the other graves. While all the rest had
garlands hung on them, this one cross was quite bare; and, more
extraordinary still, no name was inscribed on it.

The priest, observing that I stopped to look at the grave, shook
his head and sighed.

"A countryman of yours is buried there," he said. "I was present
at his death. He had borne the burden of a great sorrow among us,
in this town, for many weary years, and his conduct had taught us
to respect and pity him with all our hearts."