"There you are wrong," replied the abbe. "You should always fear a
coward, because he strikes from behind while you are expecting him in
front. If John Mauprat were not a Trappist, if the papers he showed me
were lies, the prior of the Carmelites is too shrewd and cautious to
have let himself be deceived. Never would he have espoused the cause of
a layman, and never would he mistake a layman for one of his own cloth.
However, we must make inquiries; I will write to the superior of the
Trappist monastery at once, but I am certain he will confirm what I know
already. It is even possible that John Mauprat is a genuine devotee.
Nothing becomes such a character better than certain shades of the
Catholic spirit. The inquisition is the soul of the Church, and the
inquisition should smile on John Mauprat. I firmly believe that he
would give himself up to the sword of justice solely for the pleasure
of compassing your ruin with his own, and that the desire to found a
monastery with your money is a sudden inspiration, the honour of which
belongs entirely to the prior of the Carmelites . . ."

"That is hardly probable, my dear abbe," I said. "Besides, where can
these discussions lead us? Let us act. Let us keep the chevalier in
sight, so that the unclean beast may not come and poison the calm of his
last days. Write to the Trappist superior; I will offer the creature
a pension, and when he comes, let us carefully watch his slightest
movements. My sergeant, Marcasse, is an admirable bloodhound. Let us put
him on the track, and if he can manage to tell us in vulgar speech what
he has seen and heard, we shall soon know everything that is happening
in the province."

Chatting thus, we arrived at the chateau towards the close of day. As
I entered the silent building, I was seized with a fond, childish
uneasiness, such as may come upon a mother when she leaves her babe a