“For my part, I am perfectly honest with you,” said Moretti smiling darkly, “I told you, and I tell you again, that to me you are a heretic, accursed and excommunicate.  You will, as the democrat ’Gys Grandit,’ no doubt feel a peculiar pleasure when your father is also declared accursed and excommunicate.  I have said, and I say again, that the Church is a system of moral government, and that no laxity can be permitted.  It is a system founded on the Gospel of our Lord, but to obey the commands of our Lord to the letter we should have to find another world to live in—­”

“Pardon me—­I ask for information,” interposed Cyrillon, “You of course maintain that Christ was God in Man?”

“Most absolutely!”

“And yet you say that to obey His commands to the letter we should have to find another world to live in!  Strange!  Since He made the world and knows all our capabilities of progress!  But have you never fancied it possible that we may be forced to obey His commands to the letter, or perish for refusing to do so?”

Moretti made as though he would have sprung forward,—­his face was drawn and rigid, his lips tightly compressed, but he had no answer to this unanswerable logic.  He therefore took refuge in turning brusquely away as before and was about to address himself to Bonpre, but stopped short, as he perceived Manuel, who had entered while the conversation was going on, and who now stood quietly by the Cardinal’s chair in an attitude of composed attention.  Moretti glanced at him with a vexed sense of irritation and reluctant wonder;—­then moistening his dry lips he began,

“I am bound to regret deeply that your Eminence has allowed this painful discussion to take place in your presence without reproof.  But I presume you are aware of the responsibility incurred?”

The Cardinal slowly inclined his head in grave assent.

“In relating the scene of to-day to His Holiness, I shall be compelled to mention the attitude you have maintained throughout the conversation.”

“You are at perfect liberty to do so, my son,” said Bonpre with unruffled gentleness.

Moretti hesitated.  His eyes again rested on Manuel.

“Pardon me,” he said suddenly and irrelevantly, “This boy . . .”

“Is a foundling,” said the Cardinal, “He stays with me till I can place him well in the world.  He has no friends.”

“He took some part in the affair of this morning, I believe?” queried Moretti, with a doubtful air.

“He saved my life,” said Abbe Vergniaud advancing, “It was not particularly worth saving—­but he did it.  And I owe him much—­for in saving me, he also saved Cyrillon from something worse than death.”

“Naturally you must be very gratefu,” retorted Moretti satirically, “The affection of a son you have denied for twenty-five years must be exceedingly gratifying to you!” He paused—­then said, “Does this boy belong to the Church?”