And with another sigh she dismissed the subject from her mind for the moment, her attention being distracted by the appearance of Monsignor Gherardi, who just then entered and took up a position by the Cardinal’s chair, looking the picture of imposing and stately affability.  One glance of his eyes in the direction of Aubrey Leigh, where he sat absorbed in conversation with the Comtesse Hermenstein, had put the wily priest in an excellent humour, and nothing could exceed the deferential homage and attention he paid to Cardinal Bonpre, talking with him in low, confidential tones of the affairs which principally occupied their attention,—­the miraculous cure of Fabien Doucet, and the defection of Vergniaud from the Church.  Earnestly did the good Felix, thinking Gherardi was a friend, explain again his utter unconsciousness of any miracle having been performed at his hands, and with equal fervour did he plead the cause of Vergniaud, in the spirit and doctrine of Christ, pointing out that the erring Abbe was, without any subterfuge at all, truly within proximity of death, and that therefore it seemed an almost unnecessary cruelty to set the ban of excommunication against a repentant and dying man.  Gherardi heard all, with a carefully arranged facial expression of sympathetic interest and benevolence, but gave neither word nor sign of active partisanship in any cause.  He had another commission in charge from Moretti, and he worked the conversation dexterously on, till he touched the point of his secret errand.

“By the way,” he said gently, “among your many good and kindly works, I hear you have rescued a poor stray boy from the streets of Rouen—­and that he is with you now.  Is that true?”

“Quite true,” replied the Cardinal, “But no particular goodness can be accredited to any servant of the Gospel for trying to rescue an orphan child from misery.”

“No—­no, certainly not!” assented Gherardi—­“But it is seldom that one as exalted in dignity as yourself condescends—­ah, pardon me!—­ you do not like that word I see!”

“I do not understand it in our work,” said the Cardinal, “There can be no ‘condescension’ in saving the lost.”

Gherardi was silent a moment, smiling a little to himself.  “What a simpleton is this Saint Felix!” he thought.  “What a fool to run amuck at his own chances of distinction and eminence!”

“And the boy is clever?” he said presently in kindly accents—­ “Docile in conduct?—­and useful to you?”

“He is a wonderful child!” answered the Cardinal with unsuspecting candour and feeling, “Thoughtful beyond his years,—­wise beyond his experience.”

Gherardi shot a quick glance from under his eyelids at the fine tranquil face of the venerable speaker, and again smiled.

“You have no further knowledge of him?—­no clue to his parentage?”

“None.”

Just then the conversation was interrupted by a little movement of eagerness,—­people were pressing towards the grand piano which Florian Varillo had opened,—­the Comtesse Sylvie Hermenstein was about to grant a general request made to her for a song.  She moved slowly and with a touch of reluctance towards the instrument, Aubrey Leigh walking beside her.