to rake even the darkest corners of the cathedral.

"Monseigneur, madame is there," said the page, going forward to meet
him.

The Comte de Saint-Vallier found his wife kneeling on the steps of the
alter, the old priest standing beside her and reading his breviary. At
that sight the count shook the iron railing violently as if to give
vent to his rage.

"What do you want here, with a drawn sword in a church?" asked the
priest.

"Father, that is my husband," said the countess.

The priest took a key from his sleeve, and unlocked the railed door of
the chapel. The count, almost in spite of himself, cast a look into
the confessional, then he entered the chapel, and seemed to be
listening attentively to the sounds in the cathedral.

"Monsieur," said his wife, "you owe many thanks to this venerable
canon, who gave me a refuge here."

The count turned pale with anger; he dared not look at his friends,
who had come there more to laugh at him than to help him. Then he
answered curtly:

"Thank God, father, I shall find some way to repay you."

He took his wife by the arm and, without allowing her to finish her