room. The emotional Madame Patoux choked back a rising sob.

"God bless you Monseigneur!" she murmured--"Henri will not forget
those words--the lad has a hasty temper, but a good heart--yes,
believe me--a good heart--"

"That I am sure of"--responded the Cardinal--"He is quick and
intelligent--and seeks to know the truth. If he could feel an
asserted 'truth' to be really true, I am confident he would frame
his life upon it, and be a good, brave man. Yes--he is a clever
lad,--and our modern system of education pushes the brain to a
precocity exceeding bodily years,--his impatience and anger only
come from puzzling over what he finds it difficult to understand. It
is all a puzzle to him--all a puzzle!--as it is to most of us!" He
sighed--then added in a lighter tone--"I shall want nothing more at
your kindly hands, my daughter. I have decided to leave Rouen for
Paris to-day and will take an early afternoon train. Manuel"--and he
hesitated a moment--"Manuel will go with me."

Madame was scarcely surprised at this announcement. She had indeed
expected it. She glanced at Manuel himself to see how he accepted
this sudden change in his fortunes, but he was entirely absorbed in
watching Henri and Babette lead their little crippled friend away.
After all, there was nothing to be said. The Cardinal was a free
agent,--he had a perfect right to befriend a homeless boy and give
him sustenance and protection if he chose. He would make, thought
Madame, a perfect acolyte, and would look like a young angel in his
little white surplice. And so the good woman, deciding in her own
mind that such was the simple destiny for which the Cardinal
intended him, smiled, murmured something deferential and approving,