“Do not cry!” he said gently—­“Believe in what I say—­that you will soon be quite well.  The Cardinal has prayed for you as only good men can pray,—­without one selfish thought, in faith and deep humility,- -such prayers draw angels down!  Be patient—­be brave!  Believe in the best and the best will come!”

His words rang out with a sweet convincing clearness, and even Cardinal Bonpre felt a sense of comfort as he listened.  The little cripple smiled through his tears.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured—­“I will hope and I will believe!  I am always sure God is near us, though my mother thinks He must be very far away.  Yes,—­I will be as brave as I can.  You are very good to me,—­I know you understand just how I feel, and I thank you very much.  I hope you will be happy yourself some day.  Good-bye!” Then, turning to Henri and Babette he asked, “Shall we go now?”

Henri’s brows were drawn together in a dark frown.

“I suppose so,” he replied—­“I suppose there’s nothing more to be done?” This, with a somewhat sarcastic air of inquiry directed at the Cardinal, who met his bold bright glance, mildly and half compassionately.

“Nothing more my child”—­he answered—­“Did you expect a miracle?  I told you from the first that I was no saint,—­I can do no good unless our Lord wills it.”

“The Pope believes in miracles”—­said Henri, flushing as he spoke with the heat of a sudden angry emotion—­“But only those that are performed on his own behalf!  He thinks that God’s chief business is to look after him!”

A silence ensued,—­whether of horror or embarrassment could hardly be determined.  The Cardinal said nothing,—­Babette trembled a little,—­what a dreadful boy Henri really was, she thought!—­Madame Patoux shut up her eyes in horror, crossed herself devoutly as against some evil spirit, and was about to speak, when Henri, nothing daunted, threw himself into the breach again, and turned with a fiery vehemence of appeal towards the young and thoughtful-looking Manuel.

“It’s just as I say!” he declared hotly—­“The Pope is taken as much care of as if he were a peach wrapped in wadding!  Was Christ taken care of?  No,—­He suffered all sorts of hardships and at last was crucified!  The Pope shuts himself up in the Vatican with millions and millions of money’s worth, while thousands of people around him in Italy alone, are starving and miserable.  Christ would not allow such a thing.  Christ said ’Sell half that thou hast and give to the poor’—­now the Pope doesn’t sell half, nor a quarter, nor a bit of a quarter!  He takes all he can get and keeps it!  And yet God is supposed to work miracles for an old man like that!—­Oh I know all about it!  Boys read the newspapers as well as grown men!”

“Henri!” gasped Madame Patoux, extending her fat arm and hand with a solemn gesture of reproach—­“Henri, thou art mad . . . wicked . . .”