her; he looked, she thought, like the beautiful angel of the famous
stained glass "Annunciation" window in the crumbling old church of
St. Maclou. She dared not speak to him,--she could only steal
furtive glances at him from under the curling length of her dark
tear-wet lashes,--and when the Cardinal took her by the hand and
descended the staircase with her to the passage where the crippled
Fabien waited, she could not forbear glancing back every now and
then over her shoulder at the slight, supple, almost aerial figure
of the boy, who, noiselessly, and with a light gliding step,
followed. And now Madame Patoux came forward;--a bulky, anxious
figure of gesticulation and apology.

"Alas, Monseigneur!" she began plaintively--"It is too shameful that
your quiet should be disturbed in this way, but if you could only
know the obstinacy of these children! Ah yes!--if you knew all, you
would pity their parents!--you would indeed! And this is the unhappy
little creature they have brought to you, Monseigneur,--a sad sight
truly!--and afflicted sorely by the will of God,--though one could
hardly say that God was anywhere about when he fell, poor baby, from
his mother's cart and twisted his body awry,--one would rather think
the devil was in the business, asking your pardon, Monseigneur; for
surely the turning of a human creature into a useless lump has
little of good, or divine kindness in it! Now make thy best bow to
the Cardinal," went on Madame with a gasp for breath in her voluble
speech, addressing the little cripple--" And it is a pity them hast
no time to confess thy sins and take the Sacrament before so holy a
man lay hands on thee!"

But at these words Cardinal Bonpre turned to her with a reproving
gesture.