is your appointed lot, heaven has given you a niece as dear to you
as any child of your own could be, who has won a pre-eminent place
among the world's great artists, and is moreover endowed with beauty
and distinction. What more can you desire?"

He smiled expansively as he spoke; the Cardinal looked at him
steadfastly.

"I desire nothing!" he answered--"I never have desired anything! I
told you before that I consider I have received many more blessings
than I deserve. It is not any personal grief which at present
troubles me,--it is something beyond myself. It is a sense of
wrong,--an appeal for truth,--a cry from those who are lost in the
world,--the lost whom the Church might have saved!"

"Merely fancy!" said the Archbishop cheerily--"Like the music in the
Cathedral! Do not permit your imagination to get the better of you
in such matters! When you return from Rome, I shall be glad to see
you if you happen to come through Normandy on your way back to your
own people. I trust you will so far honour me?"

"I know nothing of my future movements," answered the Cardinal
gently,--"But if I should again visit Rouen, I will certainly let
you know, and will, if you desire it, accept your friendly
hospitality."

With this, the two dignitaries shook hands and the Archbishop took
his leave. As he picked his way carefully down the rough stairs and
along the dingy little passage of the Hotel Poitiers, he was met by
Jean Patoux holding a lighted candle above his head to show him the