prefer, I think, Catulle Mendes. But I don't. I read it, you
understand, in order to be able to penetrate into the minds of my
penitents, many of whom refuse to deprive themselves of such books.
Women are so influenced by what they read! Personally, I am not very
fond of improper writers. And yet they sometimes make one laugh in
spite of one's self, don't they? I perceive you are feeling better."

Mr. Heard could not help saying:

"You express yourself very well in English."

"Oh, passably! I have preached to large congregations of Catholics in
the United States. In England, too. My mother was English. The Vatican
has been pleased to reward the poor labours of my tongue by the title
of Monsignor."

"My congratulations. You are rather young for a Monsignor, are you not?
We are apt to associate that distinction with snuff-boxes and gout
and--"

"Thirty-nine. It is a good age. One begins to appreciate things at
their true value. Your collar! Might I enquire--"

"Ah, my collar; the last vestige. . . . Yes, I am a bishop. Bishop of
Bampopo in Central Africa."

"You are rather young, surely, for a bishop?"

Mr. Heard smiled.