"I pray you do not call me holy, my daughter," he said earnestly,
the old shadows of pain and prote gathering in his eyes, "Nothing
can make me more sorrowful than to hear such an epithet applied to
one who is so full of errors and sins as myself. Try to look upon me
just as I am,--merely an old man, nearing the grave, with nothing of
merit in me beyond the desire to serve our Lord and obey His
commands,--a desire which is far stronger than the practical force
to obey it. Much that I would do I cannot; and in much that I
attempt I fail. Come to me, my child."

Here, interrupting himself, he bent down, and putting his arms
tenderly round Fabien, lifted him bodily, crutch and all, and
carried him into the next room, and as he did so, the young Manuel
glided in before him, and stood beside his chair, his blue eyes
shining with a soft and eager light of interest, and a little smile
lifting the delicate upper curve of his lips as he looked on. Fabien
meanwhile, perched on the Cardinal's knee, and held close in the
Cardinal's arms, was not at all frightened,--he simply sat,
contented, gazing up confidingly at the pale venerable face above
him. Henri and Babette, having as they considered, got their way,
stayed at the door half afraid to enter, and their mother peered
over their heads at the little scene in mingled awe and curiosity.

"My poor child," then said the Cardinal gently--"I want you to
understand quite clearly how sorry I am for you, and how willingly I
would do anything in the world to make you a strong, well, and happy
boy. But you must not fancy that I can cure you. I told your little
friends yesterday that I was not a saint, such as you read about in
story-books,--and that I could not work miracles, because I am not