Even Judge Hardin, merciless
as he is, feels compassion for this lonely man. He has asked nothing
of him. The situation is delicate.
"Can I do anything for you, Father Francisco?" says Hardin, with
some real feeling. He is a gentleman "in modo." The priest may be
penniless. He must not go empty-handed.
"Nothing, thank you, save to accept my adieux and my fondest blessing
for the little Isabel."
He hands Judge Hardin the address of the religious house to which
he will retire in Paris.
"I will deliver to your agent the other papers and certificates
of the family. They are stored for safety at the Mission Dolores
church."
"My agent will have orders to do everything you wish," remarks the
Judge, as the carriage drives up for the priest.
Hardin arises, with a sudden impulse. The modest pride of this grave
old French gentleman will not be rudely intruded on. He must not,
he shall not, go away entirely empty-handed. The lawyer returns
with an envelope, and hands it to the padre.
"From the colonel," he says. "It is an order for ten thousand
dollars upon his San Francisco bankers."
"I will be taken care of by those who sent me here," simply remarks
the padre.
Hardin flushes.
"You can use it, father, in France, for the poor, for the friendless;
you will find some worthy objects.
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