with a persistency and fortitude which denoted the reserved forces of her nature,—­and her cooking, always excellent, never went wrong because Babette had managed to put her doll in one of the saucepans, or Henri had essayed to swim a paper boat in the soup.  Things went on somehow; Patoux himself was perfectly satisfied with his small earnings and position in life—­Madame Patoux felt that “le bon Dieu” was specially engaged in looking after her,—­and as long as the wicked Babette and the wickeder Henri threw themselves wildly into her arms and clung round her fat neck imploring pardon after any and every misdeed, and sat for a while “en penitence” in separate corners reading the “Hours of Mary”, they might be as naughty as they chose over and over again so far as the good-natured mother was concerned.  Just now, however, unusual calm appeared to have settled on the Patoux household,—­an atmosphere of general placidity and peace prevailed, which had the effect of imparting almost a stately air to the tumble-down house, and a suggestion of luxury to the poorly-furnished rooms Madame Patoux herself was conscious of a mysterious dignity in her surroundings, and moved about on her various household duties with less bounce and fuss than was her ordinary custom,—­and Henri and Babette sat quiet without being told to do so, moved apparently by a sudden and inexplicable desire to study their lessons.  All this had been brought about by the advent of Cardinal Bonpre, who with his kind face, gentle voice and beneficent manner, had sought and found lodging at the Hotel Poitiers, notwithstanding Madame Patoux’s profuse apologies for the narrowness and inconvenience of her best rooms.

“For look you, Monseigneur,” she murmured, deferentially, “How should we have ever expected such an honour as the visit of a holy Cardinal-Archbishop to our poor little place!  There are many new houses on the Boulevards which could have accommodated Monseigneur with every comfort,—­and that he should condescend to bestow the blessing of his presence upon us,—­ah! it was a special dispensation of Our Lady which was too amazing and wonderful to be at once comprehended!”

Thus Madame Patoux, with breathless pauses between her sentences, and many profound curtseyings; but the good Cardinal waived aside her excuses and protestations, and calling her “My daughter”, signed the cross on her brow with paternal gentleness, assuring her that he would give her as little trouble as any other casual visitor.

“Trouble!—­Ah, heaven!—­could anything be a trouble for Monseigneur!” and Madame Patoux, moved to tears by the quiet contentment with which the Cardinal took possession of the two bare, common rooms which were the best she could place at his disposal, hurried away, and hustling Henri and Babette like two little roly-poly balls before her into the kitchen, she told them with much emphasis that there was a saint in the house,—­a saint fit to be the holy companion of any of those who had their niches up in the Cathedral near the great rose-window,—­and that if they were good children they would very likely see an angel coming down from heaven to visit him.  Babette put her finger in her mouth and looked incredulous.  She had a vague belief in angels,—­but Henri, with the cheap cynicism of the modern French lad was anything but sure about them.