He had seen but little of the monk since the day of the feast, but he
was yearning to see him now. His love for the man, his reverence for the
truths he taught, his thought of his own future if he lost his life in
his rash expedition, all urged him to seek a parting interview.
The brothers received him affectionately and bade him join their frugal
meal. The monks were five in number: they had been six, but one had
recently been drowned while returning from a pious mission to Herm. Jean
knew them all; they were honest, God-fearing men, trustful and truthful.
If their reasoning powers were not great, their faith was unswerving.
Their life was a prolonged asceticism, and they had fair reason to
expect that martyrdom would be their earthly crown.
The only exceptional feature of the repast was the appearance of one who
had never yet been seated there in Jean's presence; this guest was the
hermit who dwelt on the extreme point, against which the Atlantic waves
dashed in their fiercest fury. The recluse did not seem to cultivate the
duty of abstemiousness, but he maintained silence. Jean could not
forbear furtively scanning his appearance, which was indeed remarkable.
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