Cazeau stared at her haughtily.

“You must be mad!” he said, “No one wishes to ‘trap’ you, as you express it!  The miracle of healing performed on your child is a very remarkable one,—­it should not be any surprise to you that the Head of the Church seeks to know all the details of it thoroughly, in order to ratify and confirm it, and perhaps bestow new honour on the eminent Cardinal—­”

“I rather doubt that!” interposed Patoux slowly, “For I gather from our Archbishop that the Holy Father was suspicious of some trick rather than an excess of sanctity!”

Cazeau reddened through his pallid skin.

“I know nothing of that!” he said curtly, “But my orders are imperative, and I shall seek the assistance of the Archbishop to enforce and carry them out!  For the moment I have the honour to wish you good-night, Monsieur Patoux!—­and you also, Mesdames!”

And he departed abruptly, in an anger which he was at no pains to disguise.  Personally he cared nothing about the miracle or how it had been accomplished, but he cared very much for his own advancement,—­and he saw, or thought he saw, a chance of very greatly improving his position among the ecclesiastical authorities if he only kept a cool head and a clear mind.  He recognised that there was a desire on the part of the Pope to place Cardinal Bonpre under close observance and restraint on account of his having condoned the Abbe Vergniaud’s confession to his congregation in Paris; and he rightly judged that anything he could do to aid the accomplishment of that end would not be without its reward.  And the few words which Martine Doucet had let drop concerning the stray boy who now lived under the Cardinal’s protection, had given him a new idea which he resolved to act upon when he returned to Rome.  For it was surely very strange that an eminent Prince of the Church should allow himself to be constantly attended by a little tramp rescued from the street!  There was something in it more than common,—­and Cazeau decided that he would suggest a close enquiry being made on this point.

Crossing the square opposite the Hotel Poitiers, he hesitated before turning the corner of the street which led towards the avenue where the Archbishop’s house was situated.  The night was fine and calm—­ the air singularly balmy,—­and he suddenly decided to take a stroll by the river before finally returning to his rooms for the night.  There is one very quiet bit of the Seine in Rouen where the water flows between unspoilt grassy banks, which in summer are a frequent resort for lovers to dream the dreams which so often come to nothing,—­and here Cazeau betook himself to smoke and meditate on the brilliancy of his future prospects.  The river had been high in flood during the week, and the grass which sloped towards the water was still wet, and heavy to the tread.  But Cazeau limited his walk to the broad summit of the bank, being aware that the river just below flowed over a muddy quicksand, into