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And while I thought it was the whole I was happy. If Dom Andre Herceline had not died, today I should be a monk at El-Largani, ignorant of what I know, contented. "He never allowed me to come into any sort of contact with the many strangers who visited the monastery. Different monks have different duties.
He is the host to all visitors, to those who come over for the day and have dejeuner, and to any who remain for the night, or for a longer time. For when I was at El-Largani it was permitted for people to stay in the hotellerie, on payment of a small weekly sum, for as long as they pleased. The monk of the hotellerie is perpetually brought into contact with the outside world.
Certain duties bring monks into connection with the travellers whom curiosity sends to El-Largani. The monk whose business it is to look after the cemetery on the hill, where the dead Trappists are laid to rest, shows visitors round the little chapel, and may talk with them freely so long as they remain in the cemetery.
Androvsky looked at him and made no reply. "To El-Largani," Domini said. "To the monastery, Madame?" He whistled to his horses gaily. As they trotted on bells chimed about their necks, chimed a merry peal to the sunshine that lay over the land. They passed soldiers marching, and heard the call of bugles, the rattle of drums. And each sound seemed distant and each moving figure far away.
"Yes," he said, "this is the end, the real end, for there, it will all be different it will be terrible." "Let us sit here for a little while together," Domini said, "and be quiet. Is it like the garden of El-Largani, Boris?" "No.
Before doing so, however, something moved her to ask him: "That African liqueur, Ouardi you remember that you brought to the tent at Mogar have we any more of it?" "The monk's liqueur, Madame?" "What do you mean monk's liqueur?" "It was invented by a monk, Madame, and is sold by the monks of El-Largani." "Oh! Have we any more of it?"
I prayed for that, but with a sort of yes, now I think so insolent certainty that my prayer would of course be granted. Then I went on to the cemetery. "My work there was easy. I had only to tend the land about the graves, and sweep out the little chapel where was buried the founder of La Trappe of El-Largani. This done I could wander about the cemetery, or sit on a bench in the sun.
He set it down by his coffee-cup. "The fact is, Madame but you know nothing about this liqueur?" "No, nothing. What is it?" Her curiosity was roused by his hesitation, his words, but still more by a certain gravity which had come into his face. "Well, this liqueur comes from the Trappist monastery of El-Largani." "The monks' liqueur!" she exclaimed. And instantly she thought of Mogar.
It was as if I drew my robe more closely round me and pulled my hood further forward over my face. There was more reason for my prayers, and I prayed more passionately. I lived in prayer like a sea-plant in the depths of the ocean. Prayer was about me like a fluid. But Dom Andre Herceline died, and a new Abbe was appointed, he who, I suppose, rules now at El-Largani.
"You do know then?" "Ouardi told me we had with us a liqueur made by some monks." "This is it, and very excellent it is. I have tasted it in Tunis." "But then why did you hesitate to take it here?" He lifted his glass up to the lamp. The light shone on its contents, showing that the liquid was pale green. "Madame," he said, "the Trappists of El-Largani have a fine property.
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