least you are safely sheltered."

With a sudden quick movement the boy advanced and caught the
Cardinal's hands caressingly in his own.

"Oh, are you sure you understand?" he said, his voice growing
singularly sweet and almost tender as he spoke--"Are you sure that
it is well for you to shelter me?--I--a stranger,--poor, and with no
one to speak for me? How do you know what I may be? Shall I not
perhaps prove ungrateful and wrong your kindness?"

His worn little face upturned, shone in the dingy little room with a
sudden brightness such as one might imagine would illumine the
features of an angel, and Felix Bonpre looked down upon him half
fascinated, in mingled pity and wonder.

"Such results are with God, my child," he said gently--"I do not
seek your gratitude. It is certainly well for me that I should
shelter you,--it would be ill indeed if I permitted any living
creature to suffer for lack of what I could give. Rest here in
peace, and remember it is for my own pleasure as well as for your
good that I desire you to sleep well."

"And you do not even ask my name?" said the boy, half smiling and
still raising his sorrowful deep blue eyes to the Cardinal's face.

"You will tell me that when you please," said Felix, laying one hand
upon the soft curls that clustered over his foundling's forehead--"I
am in no wise curious. It is enough for me to know that you are a
child and alone in the world,--such sorrow makes me your servant."