Paula the Waldensian - Eva Lecomte

and a few days later I even forgot the whole thing.
A week passed, and we had seen nothing of the Breton. Paula mentioned
him several times, and I know she was praying for him. Teresa had gone to
see Celestina, but she hadn't seen anything of him either. Apparently he had
gone out early each day, and had returned very late. He had been the
principal subject of our conversation as each night we came together in the
big warm kitchen on those long winter evenings. Finally one evening just as
we were finishing the dishes, there came two hesitating knocks on the outer
door.
"I wonder who can be calling at this hour," said Rosa.
"It sounds like some child that can't knock very well," said Catalina.
"Open the door, Lisita!"
Only too glad to abandon my towel, I ran to open the door, but hardly
had I done so when I remained petrified and dumb with surprise, hardly able
to believe my own eyes. There stood the Breton twisting his battered cap
nervously between his bony fingers. The little oil lamp, which we always
kept lighted at night in the passageway, illuminated his pale face and gaunt
figure.
"Good evening, mademoiselle," he finally managed to say, and then he
stopped, apparently as embarrassed as I was.
"Who it is?" said Teresa, as she started to come to my rescue.
"It's the Breton," I said.
"Well, tell him to come in," said the old woman kindly.
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