"There was one woman," she said, slowly, "to whom he bowed--to whom
he gave his heart."

Robbins fumbled rapturously for his pencil.

"Behold the woman!" said Sister Félicité, suddenly, in deep tones.

She reached a long arm and swept aside the curtain of the alcove.
In there was a shrine, lit to a glow of soft colour by the light
pouring through a stained-glass window. Within a deep niche in the
bare stone wall stood an image of the Virgin Mary, the colour of
pure gold.

Dumars, a conventional Catholic, succumbed to the dramatic in the
act. He bowed his head for an instant and made the sign of the
cross. The somewhat abashed Robbins, murmuring an indistinct
apology, backed awkwardly away. Sister Félicité drew back the
curtain, and the reporters departed.

On the narrow stone sidewalk of Bonhomme Street, Robbins turned to
Dumars, with unworthy sarcasm.

"Well, what next? Churchy law fem?"

"Absinthe," said Dumars.



With the history of the missing money thus partially related, some