In five minutes the curate is back. "Come with me, 'mon fils,'" he
says. Guided by the priest, Maxime leaves his prison, its unlocked
door swinging open. They reach the head of the square.

By the chapel is Padre Francisco's house, school-room, and office.
A sacristy chamber connects chapel and dwelling.

The missionary leads the way to the chancel, and points to the
altar rails.

"I will leave you," he whispers.

There, on his knees, where the wondering Indians gaze in awe of
the face on the Most Blessed Virgin, Maxime thanks God for this
friend raised up to him in adversity.

He rejoins the missionary on the rose-shaded porch. In friendly
commune he answers every eager query of the padre. The priest finds
Maxime familiar with Paris. It is manna in the wilderness to this
lonely man of God to speak of the beloved scenes of his youth.

After the Angelus, Maxime rests in the swinging hammock. The priest
confers with the Commandante. His face is hopeful on returning.
"My poor boy," he says, "I gained one favor. Don Miguel allows me
to keep you here. He loves not the American. Promise me, my son,
on the blessed crucifix, that you will not escape. You must not
aid the American troops in any way; on this hangs your life."

These words show that under the priest's frock beats yet the gallant
heart of the French gentleman. Maxima solemnly promises. The good