You are a fine man. You are an innkeeper, are you not?
BISHOP. I am a priest who lives here.
JEAN. A priest! Ah, yes--I ask your pardon--I didn't notice
your cap and gown.
BISHOP. Be seated near the fire, sir.
[_Jean deposits his knapsack, repeating to himself with delight._]
JEAN. He calls me _sir_--_sir_. (_Aloud._) You will require me
to pay, will you not?
BISHOP. No, keep your money. How much have you?
JEAN. One hundred and nine francs.
BISHOP. How long did it take you to earn it?
JEAN. Nineteen years.
BISHOP (_sadly_). Nineteen years--the best part of your life!
JEAN. Aye, the best part--I am now forty-six. A beast of burden
would have earned more.
BISHOP. This lamp gives a very bad light, sister.
[_Mlle. gets the two silver candlesticks from the mantel, lights them,
and places them on the table._]
JEAN. Ah, but you are good! You don't despise me. You light
your candles for me,--you treat me as a guest,--and I've told you where
I come from, who I am!
BISHOP. This house does not demand of him who enters whether he
has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer--you are hungry--you
are welcome.
JEAN. I cannot understand it--
BISHOP. This house is home to the man who needs a refuge. So,
sir, this is your house now more than it is mine. Whatever is here is
yours. What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me,
I knew it.
JEAN. What! You knew my name!
BISHOP.
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