The Chevalier whirled about. "The Marquis de Périgny? Ah, yes; I have

heard of that gentleman. Why do you ask?"

"It is said that while he is a bad Catholic, he is generous in his

charities. Father Chaumonot and I intend to apply to him for

assistance. Mazarin has not been very liberal. Ah, how little they

dream of the length and breadth and riches of this France across the

sea! Monsieur le Marquis is rich?"

"Rich; but a bad Catholic truly." The Chevalier laughed without

merriment. "The marquis and charity? Why not oil and water? They mix

equally well."

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"You do not seem quite friendly toward the Marquis?" suggested Brother

Jacques.

"No; I am not particularly fond of Monsieur le Marquis," patting the

pommel of his sword.

"Monsieur le Marquis has wronged you?" asked the priest, a fire leaping

into his eyes.

"It is a private affair, Monsieur," coldly.

"Pardon me!" Brother Jacques made a gesture of humility. He rolled

the bread crumbs into a ball which he dropped into the bowl. Presently

he pushed aside the bowl and rose, his long black cassock falling to

his ankles. He drew his rosary through his belt and put on his

shovel-shaped hat.

Again the Chevalier's attention was drawn toward the mutilated hand.

"The pastimes of savages, Monsieur," Brother Jacques said grimly,

holding out his hand for inspection: "the torture of the pipe, which I

stood but poorly. Well, my brother, I am outward bound, and Rouen is

far away. The night is beautiful, for the wind will drive away the

snow-clouds and the stars will shine brightly. Peace be with you."

"I wish you well, Monsieur," returned the Chevalier politely.

Then Brother Jacques left the Candlestick, mounted his mule, and rode

away, caring as little as the Chevalier whether or not their paths

should cross again.

"Monsieur le Marquis!" murmured the Chevalier, staring at the empty

bowl. "So the marquis, my father, gives to the Church? That is droll.

Now, why does the marquis give to the Church? He has me there. Bah!

and this priest's eyes. Ah!" as he saw Madame Boisjoli returning,

followed by Charlot who carried the smoking supper; "here is something

that promises well."

"Brother Jacques is gone?" said madame, her eyes roving.

"Yes." The Chevalier sat down at a table.

"Monsieur Paul?" timidly.

"Well, Mignon?" smiling. Mignon was certainly good to look at.

"Did you notice Brother Jacques's eyes?"

"Do you mean to say that you, too, observed them?" with a shade of

annoyance. Vanity compelled him to resent this absurd likeness.

"Immediately. It was so strange. And what a handsome priest!" slyly.

"Shall I call him back, Mignon?" laughing.

Madame exhibited a rounded shoulder.

"Bah with them all, Mignon, priests, cardinals, and journeys." And

half an hour later, having demolished all madame had set before him,

besides sharing the excellent chambertin, the Chevalier felt the man

made whole again. The warmth of the wine turned the edge of his

sterner thoughts; and at ten minutes to eight he went forth, a brave

and gallant man, handsome and gaily attired, his eyes glowing with

anticipating love, blissfully unconscious of the extraordinary things

which were to fall to his lot from this night onward.




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