“I have been hunting for you everywhere,” he said jovially.  “I want to say good-bye without company by, for it makes me timid, ha, ha! though you would not think it.  Nice wholesome air, here! cool, decidedly cool, but wholesome.  Doing a solitary smoke over a new invention?”

“No, monsieur, I was conversing.”

“Eh! but I do not see anybody!”

“I was conversing with Nature.”

“Oh, what the poet-fellows call musing, eh?”

“A kind of prayer.”

“I see! well, his church is always open and you can go to service anytime, and day or night! and no collection-plate, ha, ha!”

“I make it a practice every day, if only briefly.”

“Quite right! quite!  I am inclined that way myself, since I lost my wife and our boy.  He said something about hoping to meet me one day up there!” and he flourished his handkerchief about his eyes and toward the clouds.  “Blessed relief to pray and do you really get an answer now and then? in time, no doubt, for it’s a great way off!”

“Do you not believe in heaven, M. Cantagnac?” demanded Clemenceau, bluntly.

In the twilight and loneliness, the question struck home, and the spy felt compelled to make some answer.

“My dear M. Clemenceau,” he faltered, “I never meddle with matters which do not teach me anything.  One word has existed thousands of years, and yet full explanations on the highest secrets have been wholly refused, so that the finest intellects give up seeking them unless they want to go mad.  So I think it my duty to abstain and not lose my time in studies useless and dangerous.  It is not merely a matter of reasoning, but of prudence.  Of course, every man is his own master.  I grant that we certainly are subjected to a power above our wit and will.  We are born without knowing how, and die without knowing why.  Between birth and death, swarm struggles, passions, sorrows, maladies, miseries of all kinds; an unfair, uneven sharing of worldly goods, and scoundrels often happy and triumphant and honest people most often unhappy and erroneously judged.  We are told that we should adore and praise this state of things; but I only hold such events as certainties that I can see and turn to my profitable use.  Now you, M. Clemenceau, are a honorable man—­a great man since you can carry on a conversation with Nature!  Why not ask her a favor on account of your belief and your work? so that you will not have to doubt her some day more than I do.  But let us talk of more substantial things.  I have inspected the plan of the property and walked over the grounds.  I have your agent’s address, and in a week, I will write to him and make my offer.  I dare say we shall come to an agreement.  Let me thank you for your very kind welcome—­I shall be off in ten minutes.”

Absorbed in meditation, Clemenceau did not hold out his hand, and, with the idea upon him of the engagement with Madame Clemenceau, the spy did not remind him of the omission.