But Henri went on unheedingly, still addressing Manuel.

“Now you are a boy, and I daresay you can read and think,—­you are about my age I suppose.  And you are left all alone in the world, with nobody to care for you,—­well, do you think that is well-arranged?—­And do you think there is any sense in believing in a God who does such a lot of cruel things?  And when He won’t help us ever so little?  How can people be good if they keep on praying and praying, and hoping and hoping, and working and working—­and yet nothing comes of it all but trouble and pain and loss . . .”  He stopped for sheer lack of breath to go on.

Manuel looked at him quietly, full in the eyes.

“Yes, it is hard!” he said—­“Very hard!  But it is not God who does any cruel thing.  God is Love,—­and the Spirit of Love cannot be cruel.  It is the people of the world themselves,—­the people who injure each other in thought, word and deed,—­and who have no spirit of love in them,—­these invite sorrow and pain, and rush upon misfortune.  Then they blame God for it!  Ah, it is easy to blame God!—­so much easier than to blame one’s self!  And if you ask me if it is well for those who suffer cruel things to still believe in God, I say yes, I do think it well,—­for it is the only chance they have of finding the right way of life after much wandering in the wrong.”

His sweet voice fell on the silence like a soft chime, and Henri, for no particular reason that he could give, felt suddenly abashed.  Cardinal Bonpre listened to the words of this strange foundling with a singular emotion,—­an emotion too deep to find any outlet in speech.  Babette raised her brown trustful eyes, and timidly ventured to put in her opinion.

“Yes”—­she said—­“I am sure that is true.  You see Henri”—­with a wise glance at her brother—­“you see it is always the same,—­when anyone suffers something unfortunate, there is certain to be some cause for it.  Now everybody says that if poor Martine had not put Fabien in the cart to save herself the trouble of holding him on her knee, he would not have tumbled out and been hurt.  That was the beginning of it.  And that was not God’s fault.  Come Fabien!—­we’ll take you back now.”

At this, Madame Patoux started from her stricken condition of horrified dumbness into speech and action.

“Ah yes, it is indeed time!” she exclaimed—­“Enough trouble has been given, I am sure, to Monseigneur, and if such a prayer as his does not reach Heaven, why then there is no Heaven at all, and it is no good bothering ourselves about it.  And what things have been said by my son!—­My son!—­against the Holy Father!  Ah, mon Dieu!  The wickedness of it!—­The horror!  And if thou learnest such blasphemy from newspapers, Henri, thou shalt not read them—­”

“Who is to prevent me?” demanded Henri, his eyes sparkling defiantly.

“Hush—­hush my child!” interposed the Cardinal quietly “Nothing indeed can prevent thee,—­no one can hinder thee from walking the world according to thine own will and direction.  Thou must take good and evil as they come, and strive thy best to discern between them—­ and if the love of God cannot help thee—­well!—­perchance the love of thy mother may!”