shall be as you please,--I will not think that you could do yourself
or me a wrong by concealing what would be right for you to tell. It
is true that you are alone in the world?"

"Quite, quite alone!" answered Manuel, a faint shadow darkening the
serenity of his eyes--"No one was ever more alone than I!"

Madame Patoux drew nearer and listened.

"And there is no person living who has the right to claim you?"

"None!"

"And is it not strange, Monseigneur," murmured Madame Patoux at this
juncture--"The little lad does not speak as if he were ignorant! It
is as though he had been well taught and carefully nurtured."

Manuel's deep eyes dwelt upon her with a meditative sweetness.

"I have taught myself;" he said simply--"Not out of books, perhaps,
but out of nature. The trees and rivers, the flowers and birds have
talked to me and explained many things;--I have learned all I know
from what God has told me."

His voice was so gentle and tender that Madame Patoux was infinitely
touched by its soft plaintiveness.

"Poor child!" she murmured,--"He has no doubt been wandering through
the country, without a soul to help him. Alas, that troubles should
begin for one so young! Perhaps he does not even know a prayer!"