THE ARCHBISHOP AND 
 THE LADY
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP 
 AND THE LADY 
 
 BY 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler Crowninshield 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 A. WESSELS COMPANY 
 1906
 
 Copyright, 1900, 
 By McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
 
 TO 
 
 MADAME JULIETTE ADAM 
 A SOJOURN AT WHOSE CHARMING ES- 
 TATE SUGGESTED TO THE AUTHOR THE 
 SETTING FOR A PART OF HER STORY 
 
 "The Anchorage" 
 
 Mt. Desert Island, Maine 
 
 October, 1900 
 
 21S501S
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 i. 
 
 The heavy little train, with its carriages modelled 
 apparently after the pattern of a child's toy, rumbled 
 slowly away from the station, starting up a new cloud 
 of dust which whirled with appropriate laziness. It 
 appeared to be a sleepy valley, this Val de Moncou- 
 sis, and the dust of the track emulated the motion of 
 the train which caused it to arise. 
 
 Quentiu had seen his belongings thrown upon the 
 asphalted platform, and picking up his valise, he 
 turned toward the plastered station and entered. He 
 made for the exit, gave up his ticket and passed 
 through the further door. He came upon a circle of 
 green round which the white road wound the end of 
 its loop-like thread. The circle and accompanying 
 road reminded him of a frying-pan with a long handle 
 stretching away down the slight incline. There was 
 no carriage standing there as he had expected, and to 
 his disgust no vehicle of any kind. 
 
 Quentin turned to the Chef de Gare. 
 
 "Is there no carriage here from the Abbey? " 
 
 "As M'sieu sees there is none." 
 1
 
 2 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " I telegraphed. " 
 
 The Chef de Gare shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Can I get a conveyance ? " 
 
 The Chef de Gare repeated the encouraging ges- 
 ture. 
 
 " They are all away, M'sieu. It is a fete day, as 
 probably M'sieu knows. There is nothing to be had; 
 a little later, perhaps " 
 
 "Can you send my things over to the Abbey? I 
 suppose it is not too far for me to walk ? " 
 
 Another shrug. " As I have already said, M'sieu, 
 a little later, if M'sieu will be satisfied with that, but 
 at the moment the new rich lord has taken the sta- 
 tion wagon. He came by the last train. He lives 
 across the valley some kilometres away. He tele- 
 graphed ! " 
 
 "So did I," said Quentin, his tone showing much 
 annoyance. 
 
 " Is M'sieu certain about the date? Did not M'sieu, 
 perhaps, say to-morrow ? " 
 
 Quentin turned and faced this new speaker. 
 
 "Yes," said he, "but I wrote it yesterday." 
 
 "And was not M'sieu's message sent, perhaps, this 
 morning ? " 
 
 Quentin uttered an exclamation of chagrin. It was 
 true. He had written the message on the previous 
 evening, as he had crossed in the boat from Southamp- 
 ton, and had handed it in that very morning at Paris, 
 without remembering that the word " to-morrow " 
 should have been changed for the word " to-day. " 
 
 "And you are ?" 
 
 "The telegraph clerk, M'sieu." 
 
 Quentin turned away with the wish that he had 
 some one to blame but himself.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 3 
 
 " I sent the boy over with the message a half hour 
 ago," continued the man. 
 
 Only a half hour ago ! Then naturally they had 
 not sent for him ; probably the boy had not yet ar- 
 rived at the Abbey. 
 
 Quentin stood and thought for a moment. He 
 looked across the valley to the wooded height, won- 
 dering how soon the station wagon would come rat- 
 tling down the road. He turned and gazed along 
 the track after the baby train which was rumbling 
 slowly round a distant curve. The evening dew was 
 bringing out the odors of the flowers, the sun had set 
 some time since. 
 
 " Is it far ? " he asked, turning again to the clerk. 
 
 "Not so far, M'sieu. A matter of five or six kilo- 
 metres, perhaps." 
 
 " And you will send my traps over, then ? " 
 
 "So soon as that lazy Antoiue returns, M'sieu. 
 He should be back by now. He may overtake the 
 M'sieu on the road." 
 
 The Chef de Gare shaded his eyes with his hand 
 from habit, for the sun had sunk behind the opposite 
 hills, and looked down along the handle of the frying- 
 pan. The valley was now cold and gray. A few 
 faint stars were beginning to stand out against their 
 background of dark blue. 
 
 " Very well, I will start. Which way then ? " 
 
 " It is an easy walk, M'sieu. M'sieu need not start 
 by the road." Quentin had taken a few steps in the 
 direction of rounding the circle. "If M'sieu will re- 
 turn through the gare, I can show him a shorter way 
 than that. The carriage road runs back for some 
 distance, that it may underrun the railway." The3 r 
 entered the station, and came out again upon the
 
 4 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 platform where Quentin had alighted. " I will be re- 
 sponsible " — the Chef de Gare looked anxiously up 
 along the track in the direction of Paris — "for taking 
 M'sieu across the track. Eh bien ! now, down that 
 little slope; in that way M'sieu will cut off a half 
 kilometre, perhaps. Just below there is the road 
 which M'sieu must follow until he comes to the 
 Abbey wall. A high wall on the right, the wall of 
 L'Abbaye de Bref." 
 
 " How shall I know when I am there ? You have 
 so many walls in your country " 
 
 " The M'sieu cannot fail to know. It is the only 
 wall of such great height. It was built to keep the 
 Religious in." The Chef de Gare smiled. "It had 
 not always that effect, as M'sieu has probably heard, 
 though it is so high. The M'sieu cannot miss the 
 Abbey. It is only about five kilometres, at most, from 
 the station." 
 
 " I may lose my way on another road. " 
 
 "There is no other road, M'sieu. There is just 
 room enough between the wall on the right and the 
 hill on the left for the road. M'sieu must ring at the 
 green door in the wall." 
 
 "All doors, like all cats, are black at night," said 
 Quentin smiling. 
 
 "I could wish that it was not so dark a night," 
 said the Chef de Gare, with a thread of anxiety in 
 his tone. 
 
 " It is not dark, my friend. " 
 
 "But it soon will be, M'sieu, long before M'sieu 
 can reach L'Abbaye de Bref. For me I prefer to 
 make my visits there in the day time." His tone 
 caused Quentin to look questioningly at him. "But 
 then there are others who are not of my opinion.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 5 
 
 Merci bien! M'sieu," as lie pocketed the liberal dou- 
 ceur, "the luggage of M'sieu will soon follow him, if 
 I can get that stupid Antoine to go over the Abbey 
 road at night. Bon soir, M'sieu. The M'sieu must 
 
 keep straight on to the " but Quentin with long 
 
 quick strides had put a non-hearing distance between 
 himself and his voluble adviser. 
 
 Quentin struck out at a smart pace, following the 
 dim ribbon of white, which showed itself under the 
 twilight. His coat and shoes were covered with the 
 very palpable dust of the country highway, but he 
 pushed sturdily onward. The walk, notwithstanding 
 the all-pervading dust, was a relief to him. He had 
 been sitting in the train for some time, and before 
 that had been driving about Paris on various matters 
 of business, and he thankfully stretched his legs. 
 
 He met no one, and, after walking a half hour or 
 more, his road turned to the left, and he found that 
 he was ascending a gentle rise. At the top of the 
 hill the road once more turned to the right, and in 
 the dim distance he thought that he saw the figure of 
 a man or boy. " Probably the telegraph messenger," 
 he said to himself. 
 
 As there were no cross roads to distract him, 
 Quentin kept on as he had been advised by the Chef 
 de Gare. The moon, which seemed to be struggling 
 to arise from behind a barrier on the left, was be- 
 ginning to silver the treetops upon the crest of the 
 hills. 
 
 This must be the wood of which the Chef de Gare 
 had spoken. 
 
 As Quentin continued upon his way there began to 
 loom up upon his right a dark object. It stretched 
 away across the fields at right angles to the wood, and
 
 6 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 lie felt sure that this must be the Abbey wall, which 
 wall, he had heard, enclosed the whole domain. A 
 further walk of five minutes brought him to the angle 
 where the wall began to march and run parallel with 
 the road, and then he found himself within a groove, 
 its sides being formed by the wall on the one side, 
 and the wooded height upon the other. Some cool 
 gusts of wind swept down the hill-side and brought 
 with them the odors of a twilit wood. A few birds 
 chirped to each other a late good-night. Quentin 
 stopped for a moment, to become better acquainted 
 with this wall, which seemed to enclose and make of 
 the place where he was to remain for the next few 
 days a veritable fortress. The wall was apparently 
 impregnable. Its face was flat, and though composed 
 of rough stones, it gave no chance for hand or foot- 
 hold. Its top, he found later, was roofed with glazed 
 tiles. Foolish indeed would be the mortal who 
 should attempt to surmount it, unless he possessed 
 a ladder of unusual length. 
 
 As Quentin paused to survey the wall he became 
 conscious that he was being surveyed in turn by 
 some scrutinizing eye. He started, and peered 
 through the semi-darkness. A faint glimmer, creep- 
 ing over the hill behind him cast an eerie light upon 
 an object above his head. It fell upon a thin elfish 
 face, from which supernaturally large eyes gazed. 
 
 "Is that you, little Father?" said a child's high 
 voice, and without waiting for an answer, "Valery, 
 is that you ? " 
 
 The moon was clearing the treetops now, and 
 Quentin found that he was gazing upward upon the 
 face of a child. It looked unearthly in the green 
 light of the moon.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 7 
 
 " How did you get up there ? " asked Quentin. 
 "It must be at least four or live feet above my head." 
 
 "I am glad you spoke," said a high little voice, 
 an awed voice, from which all traces of fear had uot 
 vanished; " I thought you were a Return. It is those 
 Returns that make me afraid. Nothing else makes 
 me to fear." 
 
 " Return ! " repeated Quentin in amaze, which 
 showed in his voice, for his face was in shadow. 
 
 "Yes, yes, those Returns, those Revenants." The 
 tone was impatient. " The nun of the oubliette ; the 
 Abbess who imprisoned her, those poor little ones; 
 the grand Seigneur — Ah ! bah ! why will I speak that 
 French ? I thought you might be my father. Then 
 I thought you might be Father Halle. Alixe has 
 gone up the road. She told me to wait for her here. 
 I was not to tell any one. You will not tell of Alixe. 
 Not to Mamasha, neither to any one; I love Alixe." 
 
 "I will not tell," said Quentin, wondering whom 
 this unknown Alixe might be who went to the wood 
 in this gloomy hour, leaving a child to keep watch 
 upon the wall. 
 
 "I was to tell her if Mamasha called. You will 
 not speak of the Grand Seigneur, if you should come 
 to the Abbey," urged the child. 
 
 "I know nothing of the Grand Seigneur, child. 
 Tell me where to find the green door in the wall." 
 
 "I knew you must be for the Abbaye. No one 
 comes this far who is not for the Abbaye. I beg of 
 you not to speak of the Grand Seigneur, because they 
 tell me that I should not know of him, and Alixe 
 sends them away if they tell me about him. It was 
 because of the Grand Seigneur that the Lady Abbess 
 put the poor nun in the oubliette. Not Alixe, but the
 
 8 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 old, old Lady Abbess who lived here hundreds and 
 hundreds of years ago. The one who lived behind 
 the iron doors, and counted her money, and hugged 
 it close because of the Robber-knights. When she 
 comes, Marie Monrouge says, she always has her bag 
 of offerings hugged close to her breast, that Abbess. 
 I should not like to see that Lady Abbess ! " 
 
 "You poor little atom," said Quentin kindly. 
 "They have stuffed you full of nonsense, haven't 
 they? Get down from that wall and talk sense. 
 Here ! let me help you down. Can you jump ? " 
 
 "I must not go until Alixe comes," said the child. 
 " Can you not stay until Alixe comes ? Do stay ! " 
 
 Just here a sweet low cry came softly upon the 
 evening air. 
 
 " Gartha, Gartha, where are you ? " 
 
 Quentin looked along the road. Then he dimly 
 discerned two figures standing together under the 
 wall. 
 
 "Come, little one," said he, "is that for you ? " 
 
 As Quentin spoke he glanced again toward the fig- 
 ures and saw that one of them was clad in black, the 
 other in white. 
 
 The child disappeared instantly from the top of the 
 wall, her voice sounded indistinctly from the other 
 side. 
 
 "Good, strange Monsieur, do not stay late." He 
 heard the voice growing fainter as the child got nearer 
 the earth. " Alixe demands me at the garden gate. 
 I must remove the hook." 
 
 Quentin heard the pattering of little feet on the 
 other side of the stone barrier. 
 
 He stood still. He did not wish to intrude upon 
 strangers at this unseemly hour. His hostess, he
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 9 
 
 knew, was not named Alixe. Perhaps be had made 
 a mistake and had come to the wrong house. Per- 
 haps his whilom friend had gone away. She was 
 ever erratic, if kindly ; never more so, Quentin 
 thought, than when she began a correspondence with 
 him after a fortnight's acquaintance at Trouville, 
 which finally merged into a pressing request that he 
 should pay her a visit at the Abbey. 
 
 Quentin saw that the two figures stood for a mo- 
 ment in the road, evidently talking together, and that 
 when they parted the white figure halted a moment, 
 then returned to the other. He had started forward, 
 and could not help hearing the final sentences of this 
 mysterious pair. 
 
 " Then you think it safe for me to come ? " asked 
 a man's voice. 
 
 The answer came in the sweet low tone which had 
 called " Gartha, Gartha, where are you ? " 
 
 " Safe ! and why not ? I am not afraid, why should 
 you be ? No one will know." 
 
 Then the white figure seemed to melt into the dark- 
 ness of the wall. By the time that it had vanished 
 Quentin was close upon the other. The man was still 
 standing where he had been left alone, his head bent 
 upon his breast. Quentin's footfall made no sound 
 in the thick dust of the road. 
 
 " Alixe ! Alixe ! " he heard in muttered tones that 
 were full of despair. He saw that he was trespassing 
 upon forbidden ground, and spoke at once in a clear 
 voice. "Good evening, my friend," he said. "Can 
 you tell me the way to the Abbaye de Bref ? " 
 
 It was the figure of a priest which stood before 
 Quentin. He was dressed in the long black frock of 
 his order. His face was pale, his features working
 
 10 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 convulsively, but he drew a quick breath and pulled 
 himself together at the inquiry. 
 
 £ We are near the entrance," he replied coldly. He 
 surveyed the distinguished looking stranger critically. 
 " And what may you wish with the Abbaye de Bref ? " 
 
 "I am a belated traveller," answered Quentin. 
 " My luggage is at the station. My telegram must 
 have been " 
 
 " A visitor ? And to whom, pray? " 
 
 At the priest's abrupt manner the blood rushed to 
 Quentin's face, but in a flash he realized that this 
 man was connected in some way with those whom 
 he was about to meet, to visit, and, controlling him- 
 self, he replied, 
 
 " To the owner, Madame Petrofsky ; she is here, I 
 suppose." 
 
 The priest gave a short laugh. "To the owner!" 
 he said. "Pardon me, Monsieur, I will show you 
 the way." 
 
 Quentin walked along by his side for about a hun- 
 dred yards, neither of them speaking. He glanced 
 furtively at his guide as they proceeded. Suddenly 
 the priest halted. " The door is there," he said. 
 
 "I see no door," said Quentin groping blindly. 
 
 As he spoke he was conscious of the distant sound 
 of gay laughter somewhere within the interior. The 
 priest started with an exclamation of anger. He bent 
 his head as if to listen, and then said, in a voice 
 hardly raised above a whisper, " The light has gone 
 out." 
 
 Quentin glanced upward and saAV that a lantern, 
 whose wick was smoking from a glowing spark, hung 
 above the door. 
 
 " I will ring for you," said the priest. From habit
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 11 
 
 obviously, he reached his hand upward in the dark- 
 ness and found and jerked the handle that hung there. 
 Then a loud metallic note pealed out on the still air. 
 There was silence for a moment and then a distant 
 voice was heard and a glimmer of light began to show 
 through a now apparent crevice. There was a shuf- 
 fling of feet and a rattling of bolts, and the door 
 opened a little way. 
 
 " Who is there ? " 
 
 Quentin turned to thank the priest, but he had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 " It is I," he answered, " Mr. Quentin. I am come 
 upon a visit to Madame Petrofsky. Is she " 
 
 For answer the servant opened the door wider, 
 threw back an ornamented grille, and Quentin stepped 
 inside the doorway. 
 
 He emerged upon a broad gravelled space, and so 
 stood while the man closed both gate and door. In- 
 stead of being under cover he was no more so than 
 he had been at any time that evening. He found 
 himself standing still beneath a moonlit sky, beneath 
 his feet the fine gravel of the esplanade. Upon his 
 left rose a grim pile of stone, whose barred windows 
 were the more visible to the eye because of the many 
 lights within. 
 
 Directly in front of him, an hundred feet away, 
 perhaps, and upon a line with the door by which he 
 had entered the enclosure, his glance fell upon a vast 
 interior. The prisms of an immense hanging lamp 
 were reflected in the highly polished floor. Quentin 
 caught in a flash the glitter of antique furniture and 
 bric-a-brac, exquisite draperies, and pictures hanging 
 against a wonderful background of color; the soft 
 . shades of heavy rugs and handsome skins, the long
 
 12 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 broad vista, a bewildering mass of well chosen and 
 expensive furnishings. There seemed to be no one 
 in the great salon, but Quentin saw that it stood at 
 right angles with the pile upon his left, and, in fact, 
 was an immense, jutting-out corner of that structure. 
 Then, as he waited, strange and alone, he was sud- 
 denly conscious of lights in the near distance upon 
 his right. Voices were intermingled in a gentle mur- 
 mur, not yet distinct to his ear; there was a pleasant 
 glow upon the gravel of the terrace, and over all 
 broke the sweet shrill voice of Madame, his friend, 
 Madame, bidding him welcome. " You dear ! " ex- 
 claimed Madame delightedly, " you dear ! " 
 
 "It is always the expected which happens here, 
 my friend," said Madame, as she came forward, her 
 small dainty figure showing more prominently as she 
 approached from out the middle distance of darkness. 
 Her hands were outstretched; in one of them she 
 held a napkin ; her skirts made a soft frou-frou against 
 the gravel of the terrace. 
 
 " I had just been telling the Archbishop that we 
 were expecting you. Was I not, your Grace ? " This 
 in louder tones to some one further away. " I had 
 almost given you up. Expect you for dinner ? " 
 She took Quentin 's hand in hers as she walked along 
 by his side. " No, not particularly, but I am always 
 expecting some one, and I was quite sure that you had 
 made a mistake in the telegram, men always do. 
 The messenger was just ahead of you. I had just 
 sent to tell Barker to get the landau " 
 
 "I sent the telegram this morning," said Quentin, 
 as he paced along the terrace by her side, his 
 bronzed face bent down upon her upturned one.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 13 
 
 " And you convict yourself out of your own mouth ! 
 but I knew from your last letter that, you had made a 
 mistake in the date." 
 
 " So that was the boy ahead of me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, undoubtedly ; but I never send messen- 
 gers." 
 
 " What do you do then ? " asked Quentin, smiling 
 down from his fine height upon the pretty, still 
 youthful-looking widow, who looked up so smilingly 
 at him. 
 
 " Why, we just come. Don't we, Alixe ? " 
 
 Quentin started and raised his eyes. A figure in 
 white was approaching from the opposite end of the 
 terrace. The tall woman was followed by a small 
 child. Quentin understood at once that the two had 
 come along inside the wall, while he was walking in 
 the same direction over the road, guided by the 
 priest; the objective point of all being the table set 
 beneath a trellissed roof. There were hanging lamps 
 above the table, whose light flickered with every 
 breath of the soft night air, and standing upon it 
 were other lamps which gave forth a more steady 
 light. The table was handsomely set with glass and 
 silver, and there were bouquets of flowers in the cen- 
 tre space, and at either end. 
 
 " Ah ! here comes our Lady Abbess ! " It was the 
 Archbishop who spoke, rising partly as he did so, 
 " somewhat late, but ever welcome. " 
 
 There were many persons seated at the table, per- 
 haps twenty in all, and Madame now took the seat 
 which she had just vacated to greet her friend. 
 
 "Sit here by me, Mr. Quentin. Mademoiselle, 
 will you move down one seat ? Alixe, this is my 
 friend, Mr. Quentin ; His Grace the Archbishop, Mr.
 
 14 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Quentin; Mademoiselle, Mr. Quentin; Baroness, 
 Miss Thorndyke, Mr. Quentin." Several other names 
 were mentioned at which their owners bowed slightly. 
 
 " And me ! " It was Gartha who spoke. 
 
 Quentin gave her a flickering smile, and shook his 
 head in good comradeship, as if saying, " I will not 
 tell." Gartha nodded hers. 
 
 " Alixe, I do wish that you and Gartha could ever 
 be on time. Here his Grace's soup has been getting 
 cold—" 
 
 "Do not mind me," said the Archbishop, with that 
 gentle tone which was ever the first factor toward 
 making him beloved of his friends. " I do not care 
 for hot soup in this weather." 
 
 "You must pardon me, your Grace," said Alixe. 
 " Gartha and I ramble sometimes rather far afield." 
 
 Quentin murmured something in Madame 's ear 
 about wishing that he could have dressed. 
 
 "You shall dress to-morrow," said Madame with a 
 happy laugh, laying her hand on his for a moment. 
 " You shall certainly do as you like now that I have 
 got you here. Why were you never willing to come 
 before ? " The playful reproach in her tone made 
 Quentin uncomfortable, especially as he saw afar 
 down the table a pair of gray eyes fixed scrutinizingly 
 upon him. 
 
 ,The soup, a "croute au pot," was excellent, and 
 Quentin ate as became a traveller. To his surprise a 
 melon was handed after the soup. 
 
 As Quentin ate his melon he glanced occasionally 
 at Alixe, and this is what he saw: A woman tall, 
 slim, high-shouldered, her face pale, her lips a deli- 
 cate pink, the upper one so short as constantly to dis- 
 close her small white teeth set at an angle, the masses
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 15 
 
 of her light brown hair pushed over her ears with 
 silver combs and falling in loops upon her neck. 
 Frills and falls of fluffy ' lisse and lace drooping 
 forward, and tumbling in jabots from her shoulders 
 to her waist, her long arms sometimes showing up to 
 the elbow, as they protruded from the flowing open 
 sleeve, sometimes entirely concealed amid the mass 
 of chiffon, which seemed to enhance her angular 
 young beaut}'. Upon her head she wore a sort of 
 white stuff hat such as the Russian peasants wear, 
 probably made of some sort of angora silk. Its brim 
 curled upward, through which the light from the 
 lamp above her head shone with a glow which seemed 
 to form a halo. She did not offer to remove the hat, 
 nor did she apologize for her appearance, which was 
 quite at variance with the conventional dinner toilettes 
 which Quentin saw all along on both sides of the 
 table. Her costume had the effect of making him 
 feel more at ease in his travelling suit. 
 
 Quentin drank her in as he raised his eyes. He 
 thought her the most picturesque figure by which his 
 gaze had thus far been arrested. Alixe gave him one 
 direct straightforward glance from her seat at the 
 extreme end of the table, and helped Gartha to some 
 melon. 
 
 "Yes, he was unfrocked," said the Archbishop, 
 evidently continuing an interrupted conversation. 
 " My office forbids me to discuss the matter, but as 
 you ask me, I must answer that he has been un- 
 frocked." 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking, Your Grace ? " asked 
 Mademoiselle, a black little minim with a gray mous- 
 tache. 
 
 Alixe glanced at her with a shade of annoyance
 
 16 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 flashing across her face. She began to speak, thought 
 better of it, and drooped her head to the hearing with 
 a resigned sigh. 
 
 " Father Halle, Mademoiselle, him whom you know 
 as Father Halle, but it is a painful subject, let us 
 drop it." 
 
 " But Robert Halle was " 
 
 "Little girls should be neither seen nor heard," 
 said Alixe, looking severely at the child who had 
 spoken. "Come! you had better go to your bed." 
 She arose. "It is too late for you to be up." 
 
 "But when the child has had no dinner," called 
 Madame in her high shrill voice, "and when you 
 yourself kept her out, Alixe, and she misses her tea, 
 and then " 
 
 Gartha had risen and was standing, awaiting the 
 final decision of Alixe. She looked at her question- 
 ingly submissive, as if desiring only to know her 
 wishes to obey. 
 
 "It is true," said Alixe reseating herself. "Sit 
 down again, Gartha, but occupy yourself with your 
 dinner. I will give you ten minutes, and you see 
 there is no time for words." 
 
 "There is a pilauf, Alixe," said Gartha humbly. 
 
 "Charles, bring some of the pilauf for Mademoi- 
 selle Gartha." 
 
 "I love you, Alixe," said Gartha. 
 
 "Eat not so goulument, Garta," screamed Made- 
 moiselle warningly. 
 
 "Alixe is always just," shrilled Madame. "Even 
 when the dear Duke " 
 
 " Mamasha, let us leave the discussion of my virtues 
 for another time." Something like a smile flitted 
 across the face of the speaker.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 17 
 
 "I will explain to you later," murmured Madame 
 in Quentin's ear. " Alixe hates to be talked over, but 
 to-morrow we will go up into the wood and " 
 
 " Let us go into the wood and talk about yourself, 
 Madame," suggested Quentin, in so low a tone and 
 with so much fervour that the Archbishop directed a 
 scrutinizing glance across the table at him, and Ma- 
 dame flushed becomingly. 
 
 Quentin's ear, though trained to catch the spoken 
 French language with little trouble, was constantly on 
 the alert. One never knew which tongue would be 
 uppermost, and sometimes Lady Barnes, a linguist 
 of repute, indulged in flights among the Italian and 
 Spanish languages. Alixe spoke Bussian to a servant 
 who waited at the table, and madame occasionally 
 brought a Russian word or sentence into the conver- 
 sation. When Madame spoke it, it sounded to Quen- 
 tin, who did not speak Russian, as if that language were 
 being dragged in by the heels. This astonished him, 
 as he had understood that Madame was a Russian. 
 
 Before the meal was ended, she, whom Quentin 
 knew only by the name of Alixe, arose. 
 
 "Say good night, Gartha," said she, "and kiss 
 Mamasha's hand. Make your courtesy to His Grace. 
 Come now ! Off we go ! " 
 
 The child did as she was bid ; then the two bowed 
 ceremoniously to the assembled company, and van- 
 ished along the terrace, the child clinging close to the 
 tall figure, who walked with her head bent somewhat 
 forward, thus concealing her real height. 
 
 "I do wish Alixe were a little more conventional," 
 
 sighed Madame. In the darkness could be heard the 
 
 sound of the voices of the two, and the skipping of 
 
 light feet across the loose gravel of the terrace, and 
 
 2
 
 18 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 the cries of, "Alixe, where are you?" or "Gartha, 
 where have you gone? " and the answering cry of 
 "Here I am; come and find me." 
 
 There was merry laughter, low and soft from the 
 one, and a child's glad crj r from the other, and finally 
 a far door down along the terrace opened for a mo- 
 ment, emitting a broad gleam of light, and then was 
 closed, shutting away the sound of the voices, and the 
 sight of these incongruous playmates. 
 
 "Owze Duchess spoils Garta," remarked a lady 
 whom they addressed as Baroness. 
 
 The Duchess ! Who was the Duchess? 
 
 " Coffee in the salon, Charles," said Madame as she 
 arose. She turned toward the prelate. " And must 
 you leave us to-morrow, Tour Grace? " 
 
 "Without doubt, dear Madame. I must take a 
 morning train back to Paris. It was difficult for me 
 to get away even for a day." And then, in a lower 
 tone, "I had heard of Halle's being seen about here, 
 and I felt it my duty to warn you, not only as an old 
 friend, but as a priest of the church, to have nothing 
 to do with him." 
 
 " But Bobert has always " 
 
 " You must not condone his behavior, Madame, be- 
 cause he is a friend; you — a devoted daughter of the 
 church." 
 
 Quentin thought of the black figure which he had 
 seen at the gate. Had he unearthed a mystery so 
 soon? Was this Father Halle, the unfrocked priest? 
 Could he be loitering here to do some injury to this 
 benign looking old man? Was it his, Quentin's, duty 
 to inform his Grace that a priest lurked without the 
 wall? Should he so early in his visit volunteer un- 
 pleasant information of which he only was possessed?
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 19 
 
 Had the Archbishop been departing at once Quentin 
 might have felt bound to declare what he had seen, 
 but his Grace had said "to-morrow," there could be 
 little danger in the light of day ; and then, there was 
 Alixe. Quentin knew of no other name by which to 
 call her, in his thoughts. A feeling of loyalty toward 
 her sprang up within his breast, a feeling which lie 
 quenched at once as absurd. She would hardly be 
 grateful to him for his loyalty. She had vouchsafed 
 him not a word. She had given him simply a cold 
 bow of welcome and as cold a good night. 
 
 Coffee was served in the grand salon of the chateau. 
 It was a walk of about two hundred feet from the trel- 
 lissed arbour where they had dined to the great door 
 of the main house. They all trooped, in well-bred 
 disorder, into the great salon, of which Quentin had 
 caught a glimpse upon his arrival. There were many 
 persons in the room ; black coated men and charm- 
 ingly costumed women. Quentin felt himself too trav- 
 el-stained to remain with that brilliant company . The 
 ringing of the bell at the gate gave him an excuse to 
 rise. As he hoped, it proved to be the tardy Antoine 
 with his belongings, and he followed Madame out on 
 to the terrace as the door was opened. 
 
 " Is that all you brought? " asked Madame in a dis- 
 appointed tone, with her pretty Russian accent and 
 childish lisp. " Take Monsieur's things to the chalet, 
 Eugene. I will go with you and show you your quar- 
 ters. No, no! It is a pleasure. It's a queer old 
 place. Have you any nerves, Mr. Quentin? I hope 
 not. Bruno's rooms are there also. Bruno is an en- 
 thusiastic inventor. He goes away to get ideas and 
 buy chemicals. Sometimes I wish he were not quite 
 so enthusiastic,"
 
 20 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Bruno? " said Quentin interrogative! y. 
 
 " Yes, my nephew, Count St. Aubin. He may pos- 
 sibly arrive before you leave us. We never know — 
 hold the light, Pierre Monrouge. Come this way, 
 my friend. " 
 
 They were out of doors with only the sky, moon 
 and stars above them. It was a perfect night. The 
 air came softly to caress the cheek, filled with the 
 breath of the cinnamon pinks and the midsummer 
 roses. Quentin paced along the terrace by the side 
 of Madame. They passed the deserted table, where 
 the swinging and standing lamps lighted up the dis- 
 ordered remains of the feast. The table was set 
 within a sort of alcove, a wall, the outer wall of the 
 enclosure, making the inner boundary of the recess. 
 The other three sides were open, except for the pillars 
 of stone which upheld the roof, and showed their an- 
 cient roughness between the masses of greenery with 
 which the vines had draped them. 
 
 "The chalet looks like an entresol on stilts, doesn't 
 it? " laughed Madame. 
 
 A few steps further on they stopped at the entrance 
 to a stairway, down which some beams of light flick- 
 ered. There seemed to be a struggle going on to get 
 Quentin' s belongings up the stairs, and he turned his 
 back until it should be over. 
 
 "You feel just as I do," said Madame, as she also 
 turned away. "When they are bringing a rented 
 piano into my apartment in town, I go out for the 
 day. When I return, there stands the piano. Magic 
 has been at work. I have simply waved my wand. 
 I do not care to see the men perspire and hear them 
 groan, and perhaps give vent to an occasional curse, 
 which I know is intended for me. My servants may
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 21 
 
 hear that. That is what I pay them for." She 
 walked out to the edge of the broad terrace ; Quentin 
 followed. She stood there, her youthful back turned 
 toward her guest, looking up the long valley in the 
 direction of Paris. Nearer, the greenish light was 
 flooding the plateau below the terrace, and silvering 
 the ragged edges of the Abbey, which Quentin seemed 
 now to have noticed for the first time. It stood per- 
 haps three hundred feet or so beyond the terrace, and 
 made an exquisite picture in the uncertain rays of 
 light. The great rose-blooms were nodding in the 
 evening breeze and sending forth languorous odors as 
 they moved. 
 
 "I feel as if I were living in a dream," said Quen- 
 tin. " Do assure me that I shall not awake presently, 
 at some fashionable watering place, or in a great 
 stuffy room of a Paris hotel." 
 
 " It is a dream from which you need not awake, my 
 friend, " said Madame in her softest voice. " But you 
 have seen ruins before. You have seen Kenilworth 
 and Chatsworth and fifty others " 
 
 ' Yes, yes ! As a tourist, a sightseer, but to live in 
 a place like this, full of mystery, full of romance, to 
 feel that it is mine for the moment, to look forward 
 to days of exploration and nights of cold chills " — 
 Quentin broke off with a contented shiver of delight. 
 ' You once asked me, Madame, what you might give 
 me. You could give me nothing better than this; 
 some days spent with you at l'Abbaye de Bref." 
 
 Madame turned toward him and laid her small 
 hands upon his arm. She pressed it fondly. " You 
 dear ! " she said. 
 
 There was the sound of a succession of thumps 
 within the chalet. Light was now streaming out of
 
 22 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 three or four windows, and in a moment they heard 
 feet descending the stairway. Then a ray of light 
 crept wobblingly along the ground. Suddenly it 
 spread into a star, as Antoine, a Rembrandt picture 
 in illumination as well as ugliness, emerged from the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Now, come, I will show you," said Madame, start- 
 ing forward. " No, no ! " as Quentin tried to put 
 something into Antoine's hand. " Don't spoil the sim- 
 ple peasant. We pay them by the year over there at 
 the station. Bon soir! Antoine. Follow me, my 
 friend," and Madame disappeared within the open 
 doorway. 
 
 There seemed to be no door ; simply an archway of 
 stone through which Quentin followed his guide. The 
 stairs were of brick, the front of the treads of wood 
 worn and hollow in places. The flight curved gently 
 at the bottom, then ran straight and ended upon a 
 landing also of brick. The two pairs of feet made a 
 strange shuffling noise, as their owners proceeded. 
 When they came out upon the landing, Quentin saw 
 that an ancient looking lantern hung above his head 
 and gave out a feeble light. Upon the right of the 
 landing was an open door, and he saw that there was 
 also a door upon the left. This door was closed. 
 
 " Those are Bruno's rooms," said Madame, pointing 
 to the closed door, "and these are yours." She 
 turned toward the open door and ushered Quentin 
 into a charming chamber. 
 
 The room was well lighted with candles. It was 
 in shape a rectangle. There were windows on either 
 side, and at the further end a door was open. A light 
 shone from within. 
 
 " This is your dressing room, " said Madame, passing
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LAD " 23 
 
 through the first to the second chamber, " and here 
 beyond again is another little place for your boxes, 
 when Marie Monrouge has emptied them to-morrow." 
 
 Quentin found that he was in possession of two 
 charming rooms, as well as a large closet, or, rather, 
 a third room, in which were frames for coats, stands 
 for trunks and boxes, a bath ready for the night, with 
 cans of water standing by, and everything which was 
 calculated to add to his comfort. This third room 
 was not furnished. The floor was bare of carpet, ex- 
 cept for the batli rug, which was in its place by the 
 hat-bath. 
 
 The candle which Madame held flickered almost as 
 if some one were blowing upon the flame. Quentin 
 felt a cold bla^t of air on his neck, his cheek. He 
 looked inquiriigly toward tho black opening from 
 which the draught of air seemed to come. 
 
 Madame laujhed tremulously. 
 
 " That was > doorway. You can see where the nar- 
 row little dooi has been removed from its hinges, ages 
 ago perhaps. No one knows the date of anything in 
 these old bindings, or when anything happened here. 
 Things were iway s happening, I fancy. Don't go too 
 near, my frind," as Quentin moved towards the top 
 step. " Th-se stairs are steep, and I shall not want 
 you laid rp with a sprained ankle. There are too 
 many lovey walks about this old place ; and now that 
 I have go you here at last, you must see everything 
 there is t> be seen — see it all with me." 
 
 Quentfl stood peering down the stairway. He 
 might is well have looked into a pocket. There 
 seemed to be nothing below there but the blackness 
 of dnkness. 
 
 " Yhere does it lead to? " he asked.
 
 24 r HE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " T an old disused door in the outer wall. Did 
 you notice how broad and thick these walls are? No? 
 You could hardly have had an opportunity yet except 
 as you entered the place. You must see it to-morrow. 
 Just here, I fancy, the wall is but a shell, and the pas- 
 sageway is left between the outer and the inner shell." 
 
 " That would be an easy way to storm your fortress," 
 said Quentin, laughing. "The vulnerable point in 
 your armor." 
 
 " The door is old, but the iron is thick. The bolts 
 are strong, and the key we keep in the chateau. 
 Alixe takes charge of it. The dcor is probably 
 stronger than the wall itself. Besices, who should 
 want to storm our fortress?" Madame laughed. 
 "So far as I know we are at peace wjth the world." 
 
 " That is the third door of which t already know 
 in your impregnable outer wall," saic, Quentin, jok- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Ah ! " Madame returned. " The Atbey has great 
 possibilities. It is a place with a past. | At one time, 
 in the fifteenth century, I think Alixe s^d, it lapsed 
 into simply a social and secular house. All religious 
 vows were abrogated, if not formally, thta by simply 
 letting them fall into disuse. That was \ generation 
 of romance, such as nowadays we neve^ dream of. 
 There were love scenes, and flights, and punishments, 
 and — but come ! I must not keep you staring here. 
 You must be tired to death ! " 
 
 Madame set the candle down upon a little <^al table, 
 and returned to the dressing room and so though to 
 the larger sleeping chamber. 
 
 " I see that Marie Monrouge has made boV the 
 beds," said she, glancing into the dressing i>om. 
 " You can take your choice."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 25 
 
 "I shall not want to go away at all," said Quentin, 
 "after such an embarrassment of luxury. Four 
 windows ! " he added. " I shall not want for air." 
 
 " Two of them look upon the road," explained Ma- 
 dame. " The chalet is built, as you will see to-mor- 
 row, into the wall, welded into it, in fact, just as the 
 chateau is built into it further along. Between the 
 two and connecting them runs the simple wall of the 
 domain for, perhaps, two hundred feet. The windows 
 on the road we keep closed, though there is no reason 
 why you should not have them open if you wish. 
 But those on the terrace we always leave open. You 
 will find no mosquitoes, my American friend, to dis- 
 turb your night's rest, and now, good night! " 
 
 She turned to Quentin and held out both her hands. 
 
 He stretched out his own, and clasped them. How 
 soft and small they were ! How young she looked in 
 the dim light of the lamp ! Hardly more than thirty 
 years of age. 
 
 "May you be so content with me — with us," she 
 said, " that you will not care to leave the Abbey soon. 
 Happy, happy dreams ! " She had held Quentin's 
 hands all the time that she was speaking. 
 
 "Good night, Mamasha," he laughingly returned. 
 He shook her hands up and down in an embarrassed 
 sort of way. "Good night, Mamasha, good night!" 
 
 She withdrew hers quickly. 
 
 "You heard my niece call me that," she said. 
 " They all do it. You would think I were the mother 
 of the whole human race." 
 
 "Not when I look at you," replied Quentin gal- 
 lantly. 
 
 ' You dear ! Bruno calls me so, and Gartha "
 
 26 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "The little girl is a relative, then? " 
 
 " She is the child of a sister of Alixe. Alixe is 
 wrapped up in her. But come ! No more to-night. 
 Sleep well, arise when it pleases you, ring your bell 
 for coffee, or come down to the arbour; above all, 
 while you remain among us feel as if l'Abbaye de 
 Bref were your home." Her sweet high voice rang 
 the final words back at him, as she tick-tacked down 
 the stair. 
 
 Quentin properly reproached himself for the evan- 
 escent thought that Madame's good night had been 
 somewhat more fervid than the occasion warranted, 
 and, experiencing a feeling of annoyance with him- 
 self, he proceeded to examine his quarters. 
 
 The floor was laid with octagon tiles of deep red, 
 dull and mellow in tone. The windows were hung 
 with curtains, fresh and neat, but whose creamy tinge 
 confessed, perforce, to the flight of time since they 
 were young. Upon them was a design of deep red, 
 where shepherdesses and shepherds, with sheep to 
 play propriety, disported themselves in the fields, and 
 where carter lads and horses struggled with mountains 
 of hay and carts much larger than themselves. The 
 curtains were edged with a quaint red fringe and 
 looped back with plain red bands. The wood work 
 of the room was white. The walls were hung with a 
 pale green stuff, against which he discovered some 
 ancient prints at such a height that their little impro- 
 prieties could not become large factors in the corrupt- 
 ing of those who tried from their distant stand upon 
 the floor to decipher their meaning. Under foot were 
 soft rugs, which caught in the heels of Quentin's 
 shoes, and which he was constantly laying in place 
 again. The bed, a high French bed, with its duvet
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 27 
 
 and mountain of little pillows, tickled his fancy, and 
 he chuckled aloud as he wondered how he was going 
 to sleep among such smothering comforts. The great 
 dressing table was covered with the same material as 
 that which draped the windows, and had Quentin pos- 
 sessed a woman's curiosity or domestic knowledge, 
 he would have examined to find it but a simple con- 
 struction of deal, made beautiful and useful by eco- 
 nomical taste. 
 
 Quentin cast a glance toward the little dressing 
 room, then he advanced slowly across its threshold. 
 The flickering of the candle in the further room re- 
 minded him that it was still alight on the table where 
 Madame had left it, and he entered the closet to extin- 
 guish it. The room had a lonely air ; and as before the 
 draught which came from the narrow staircase waved 
 the flame to and fro. Quentin took the candle in his 
 hand and leaned far over the opening, but again he 
 could perceive nothing. With quick determination 
 he retreated, and passing through the middle room 
 into his bed-chamber, he closed and bolted the door. 
 
 "It is foolish to sleep in a draught," he said to 
 himself, thus excusing a slight feeling to which he 
 scarcely confessed, and, if he did acknowledge it ever 
 so faintly, of which he was at the same moment 
 ashamed. Remembering the neglected bath prepared 
 for him, but too tired to more than reproach himself, 
 he undressed hastily, and, climbing into the high bed, 
 stretched his form along the cool and grateful linen. 
 
 Quentin had thought that sleep would have met him 
 half-way, but although the perfect stillness of the 
 night was broken by no disturbing sound, his new 
 and strange surroundings, preceded by his somewhat 
 adventurous arrival amid a houseful of people, but
 
 28 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 one of whom lie had ever met before, kept him 
 awake. He thought as he lay there, in a state of 
 pleasurable languor, that he heard the distant sounds 
 of music, and once the notes of a voice rose upon the 
 air, but it was faint, and listen as he would he could 
 catch no consecutive sounds. He had never been in 
 a place before the silence of which so impressed him. 
 It pervaded all things. If he but moved in his bed, 
 it seemed as if they must hear the sound in the chateau. 
 Suddenly, voices somewhere near him brought him 
 back from the borderland of dreams. He listened, 
 than sat up in bed, then slid down from the slippery 
 mountain to the floor, and approached the window. 
 The voices came from two persons who were seated 
 beneath the great tree, whose branches a little further 
 on spread in shade across the gravel of the terrace. 
 The voices were those of a man and a woman, but 
 their words were indistinct. Some one was smoking, 
 for Quentin saw the red spark of a cigar beneath the 
 tree, and after a few moments the aroma of a very 
 good Havana came drifting to his nostrils. He had 
 no wish to know who these people were. He felt no 
 curiosity at all in the matter. He leaned lazily out 
 of the window, taking them in as part of the general 
 interest of his surroundings. He gazed across his 
 narrow little balcony at the ruined Abbe} r , at the far 
 fields, and further hillsides ; at the near flower garden, 
 at the nearer terrace, and again glanced down at the 
 two figures showing faintly through the low sweeping 
 branches. He sniffed the fragrance again of the good 
 cigar, and wished that he had not hurried off so soon 
 to bed only to find that he could not sleep. 
 
 As he continued lazily to regard them, the two per- 
 sons arose and came out from under the obscuring
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 29 
 
 shade of the tree, and now Quentin saw that they 
 were his friend, Madame, and her guest, the Arch- 
 bishop. Madame was talking volubly, while the 
 Archbishop puffed slowly, listening courteously, un- 
 til she had finished. The two began to pace the ter- 
 race side by side. Madame turned occasionally to 
 lay her hand upon the Archbishop's arm. Finall}' 
 as, extending their walk a few feet, they came near 
 Quentin's balcony, the words of the Archbishop were 
 brought distinctly to his ear. 
 
 "I warn you as a daughter of the church to have 
 nothing to do with him, either now or at any other 
 time. I assure you that you will regret it if you do." 
 
 " But if Alixe persists — — " 
 
 Quentin shrank behind the vines, for they had 
 reached the point opposite his darkened window. 
 They passed on toward the end of the terrace, Ma- 
 dame still arguing, the Archbishop listening as he 
 puffed his cigar. Quentin did not wait to see them 
 return ; he had no fancy for the role of eavesdropper, 
 and again mounting to his mattress, he was soon 
 asleep. 
 
 How long he slept he knew not. He was awakened 
 by a sound. What it had been he could not deter- 
 mine. He sat up in his bed and listened. The quiet 
 was as the silence in the chamber of death. He 
 glanced toward his window. The moon had set and 
 the early day was breaking. He tried to sleep again, 
 but he and sleep had parted company, for that night 
 at least, and he arose and going to the window thrust 
 his head from the framed opening. The fresh sweet 
 scents of the early morning filled his nostrils. The 
 gravel of the terrace was wet, as if watered by human 
 hands. There, far away across the outlying hills, he
 
 30 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 saw. the first pale tinge of the early sun, thrown over 
 from above the sharp rise at the back of the chalet. 
 A lone bird chirped faintly. Quentin leaned further 
 out of the window and lost himself in a wondering 
 reverie. 
 
 Why had he been led to this place? It was thus 
 far mysterious and vague; delightful, certainly, but 
 what had it to do with him? Why had he come here 
 with no more knowledge of his hostess than that 
 gained in a fortnight's semi-flirtation at a French 
 watering place. He had never thought to ask of her 
 belongings, they did not interest him, and she had 
 not volunteered any information. He considered it 
 but the pleasure of a passing hour, his acquaintance 
 with Madame. Had she not written, pressing him 
 to visit her at l'Abbaye de Bref, he would have gone 
 to his home and forgotten all but the kindness that 
 had made his stay at the seaside more than pleasant. 
 Madame had spoken vaguely of "the General," and 
 "the Count," and "the dear dead Duke," but then 
 Quentin' s environment had brought him into ac- 
 quaintance with so many Generals and Counts, if not 
 dear dead Dukes, and of the three he was not quite 
 certain whether the first two were alive or not. Here 
 was he, a guest in a house of whose inmates he knew 
 nothing. He knew that he had discovered on the top 
 of a high wall an elfish child named Gartha — a child 
 who hated the French and was afraid of Kevenants. 
 He knew that he had seen a certain dark little lady 
 who was short and stout, who wore a moustache which 
 almost rivalled his own, and who shot a fine spray over 
 his shirt bosom as she talked to him. He had sat for a 
 time at a table with an Archbishop, who had remarked 
 decidedly that some one had been unfrocked, a some
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 31 
 
 one in whom he took little interest. It was nothing 
 to him if all the priests in France should be unfrocked. 
 Probably there was as much blame on the one side as 
 on the other. He had met a number of ladies and 
 gentlemen, guests of the house, none of whose names 
 he remembered, even if they had been mentioned. 
 He had heard of a certain Bruno, who lived across 
 the landing in those other rooms, presumably the 
 counterpart of his own, but who was not an inmate of 
 the Abbey at present. Above all he had seen a charm- 
 ing young creature whom they called Alixe. Gartha 
 had exclaimed, " Oh ! I love Alixe ! " Here Quentin 
 stood straight, awakened wide from his reverie. 
 There was no more sleep for him. He walked across 
 toward the door of his dressing room. He would 
 take the bath neglected the night before, then, go for 
 a mountain scramble, and be ready for the strange 
 new day that awaited him. Then there was that black 
 robed figure, who had guided him to the gate, and 
 had rung the bell. He remembered his face, dark, 
 sallow. As these thoughts coursed through his brain 
 he had drawn back the bolt of the dressing room door, 
 and had opened it, — was this priest a man to fear? 
 Or a man to — Quentin's glance crossed the bed. 
 There lay the man of whom he had been thinking. 
 His tonsured head was thrown back upon the pillow ; 
 his face was thin and lantern-jawed, but with a cer- 
 tain beauty of its own ; the eyes were covered with 
 lids which seemed to sink deep into the hollows of 
 their sockets. The abandonment of the figure showed 
 that the man was lost in a deep sleep. A thin hand 
 lay outside the cover. Upon a chair was thrown a 
 black robe, and upon the floor lay the sandals of a 
 priest.
 
 32 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 The man seemed to be about twenty-eight or thirty. 
 He had a careworn look which Quentin felt made him 
 seem older than his years. As Quentin backed softly, 
 the priest moved in his sleep. He muttered some 
 broken sentences. "No, no! Bruno," he said, "do 
 not ask me. I cannot do it, even for " 
 
 Quentin went out and softly closed the door.
 
 n. 
 
 It was not more than five o'clock when Quentin de- 
 scended? the chalet stair. He asked of Pierre Mon- 
 rouge, who was raking the gravel of the terrace, if he 
 could get to the river. 
 
 " Does M'sieu then wish to get away ? " asked Pierre 
 Monrouge wondering, open-mouthed. "Did M'sieu 
 then pass an uncpiiet night? " 
 
 " No, no, my good man. I want a plunge in the lit- 
 tle stream." 
 
 "But M'sieu will take cold," returned Pierre Mon- 
 rouge with that prudence which is ever present with 
 the French peasant so far as water is concerned. 
 
 "I shall not take cold," laughed Quentin; "show 
 me the way." 
 
 " M'sieu must have the key of the little door by the 
 mill," said Pierre Monrouge. "I will get it for 
 M'sieu. But I strongly advise the M'sieu against 
 it. We take les grands bains, it is true, on several 
 days in the year. On Ascension day, par example ! 
 Tout le monde takes them on Ascension day, and we 
 immerse the whole body in water before other fete 
 days ; often in midsummer, but that is in a house, 
 where the room has been warmed. To dip oneself in 
 the cold water as it runs from the hills, it is indeed to 
 tempt Providence, and " 
 
 Quentin seized the key, and fairly ran away to 
 3
 
 34 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 escape the voluble speech which Pierre Monrouge was 
 pouring out upon him. He hastened along the path 
 beneath the chateau walls, and was soon at the mill 
 door. 
 
 He glanced as he ran at the ruin of the Abbey 
 church, now showing rugged and grey in the early 
 light, but a feeling of loyalty to Madame kept him 
 from penetrating its interior. This was her present 
 to him, his kind friend; the pleasure he was to expe- 
 rience within the nest few days. She had expressed 
 a wish to show him everything of interest, herself. 
 He would not mar her kindly anticipations by so 
 much as a glance. 
 
 A dip in the cool little stream which flowed just 
 outside the Abbey walls in a world where he was the 
 only soul awake, and a run back to the chalet, where 
 he encased himself in fresh clothes, was the work of 
 a half hour. Then the sun began to creep through the 
 top of the pines which clothed the hill on the oppo- 
 site side of the road. 
 
 Quentin again descended the chalet stairs, and went 
 along the terrace toward the entrance gate. The grille 
 was thrown back, the door was open, and Pierre Mon- 
 rouge was sweeping away the ubiquitous dust of yes- 
 terday from the broad stone step. 
 
 " Can I get up the hill from here? " asked Quentin. 
 
 " The M'sieu has but to walk a little way back along 
 the road, and he will find a path, a narrow little path, 
 which leads up the hillside. But will not M'sieu have 
 some coffee first? " inquired Pierre Monrouge. 
 " Charles, is not the coffee ready ? " 
 
 Charles, who had just come sleepily out from a 
 door near the gate, looked in surprise at the strange 
 Monsieur standing there, dressed for the day.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 35 
 
 "M'sieu must be cold, the water must have chilled 
 him," said Pierre Monrouge, who was apparently re- 
 lieved to see Quentin in the flesh once more. 
 
 "I am not cold," said Quentin, laughing. "When 
 is breakfast? " 
 
 "At all times, Monsieur," replied Charles, with a 
 sigh of protest at the luxurious irregularity of the 
 early family meal. 
 
 Quentin passed out of the gate, and walked back 
 along the road that he had traversed the night before. 
 A short distance from the chateau he passed an old 
 iron door sunk in the wall. It had broad and strong 
 hinges, which were yellow with rust, and large nails 
 whose angular tops spoke plainly of a long past age. 
 Quentin stood for a moment looking at the door. 
 Then he glanced upward at the chalet underneath 
 whose walls it was placed. He was satisfied that it 
 was the door of which Madame had told him the night 
 before, whose key was kept in the chateau, and at 
 once the conviction forced itself upon his mind that 
 it was through this door the priest must have entered 
 to reach the small dressing room where he was now 
 sleeping. If so, how had he obtained the key ? 
 
 Quentin turned away from the mysterious door and 
 mused as he walked onward. " Who has gone in and 
 out of that door?" he thought. "What wary feet, 
 what scheming heads, what black hearts, have made 
 use of it, and for what purpose? " His mental ques- 
 tions were colored from a puritanical standpoint, but 
 there was no one to answer them, and he proceeded 
 upon his way. 
 
 He soon found himself in the little path of which 
 Charles had spoken. Quentin at once took this 
 foot-path, and was soon mounting the hill with easy
 
 36 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 strides. When the path crossed the country road, 
 he struck into that and walked on for nearly an 
 hour, and when it was nearing half after six o'clock, 
 he turned and retraced his steps. Walking for about 
 an hour more, he came out upon the top of a hill. 
 This hill, he supposed, must overlook the Abbey, 
 but he had no way of ascertaining this fact. As he 
 walked along the crest between the great giants of 
 the wood, he emerged suddenly into a little glade. 
 Here, to his surprise, his eye caught sight of a head- 
 stone. A headstone rather yellow and moss-grown, 
 but it was evident that some one had lately been at 
 work upon the inscription. A busy and faithful hand 
 had been cleaning some of the letters, and Q uentin, 
 leaning down, read the word "General." Following 
 this were the letters " Petr — " " So this was the rest- 
 ing place of the General ! General Petrofsky, of whom 
 Madame had spoken with so much widowed pride. 
 There was a second headstone standing there, and 
 Quentin made out upon it the name " Allaire Carle- 
 ton, beloved wife of H. Valery, Esq., aged eighteen 
 years and ten months." Beneath this again was 
 carved the words, " She has found peace. " 
 
 The glade was a nearly circular one. The absence 
 of branches and leaves argued that it was carefully 
 kept, but the grass was long and yellow, and waved 
 in the breeze which crept through the wood. Quen- 
 tin circled the glade about, but only the serried ranks 
 of forest trees faced him as he tried in vain to peer 
 between their trunks. Being a member of the Alpen 
 Klub, a climber of repute and faithful to his cult, he 
 was anxious to obtain a view as much as to get his 
 bearings. As there seemed to be no way but one by 
 which he could attain this object, he proceeded to
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 37 
 
 climb a low-branching tree, whose great height seemed 
 to overlook the other denizens of the forest. 
 
 Quentin was soon at the top of the tree. Here his 
 eye could range over the Valley of Moncousis, and 
 down the hill upon the other side, along a second 
 valley, of whose name he was ignorant. Just below 
 him lay the Abbey, and far off, like a winding silver 
 thread, ran the little stream, the "river" of Pierre 
 Monrouge, in which he had taken his dip, now nearly 
 three hours ago. 
 
 Quentin was lost in the beauty of the view. At his 
 height he could hear nothing but the sighing of the 
 soft morning air in the trees, and the twitter of the 
 woodland birds. Suddenly he became conscious of a 
 new feeling, a void, which only the coffee of Charles 
 could satisfactorily supply. He had suddenly dis- 
 covered that he was ravenously hungry. He started 
 to descend, and as he proceeded he was conscious of 
 a far voice calling. Was it for him? He listened. 
 No ! the name was " Alixe ! Alixe ! " The sound did 
 not come to him unfamiliarly. It seemed as if he 
 had been hearing that new, sweet name all the morn- 
 ing long. 
 
 When Quentin had descended half way to the 
 ground, he seated himself for a few moments on an 
 inviting branch. But for the noise of his own move- 
 ments he might have heard the sweeping sound of a 
 dress across the long grass of the glade where no foot- 
 fall could be heard, while the rustle made by the skirt 
 of the gown was loud enough to quench to the ear of 
 its owner the noise made by his movements among 
 the leaves. He did not hear the step which entered 
 the glade beneath, nor the sigh of pleasure with which 
 the tall figure sank down at the foot of the very tree
 
 38 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 in which he was sitting. But he was aroused from 
 his momentary reverie by hearing his own name. It 
 was so sudden that there was nothing to do but re- 
 main quiet and hope that his presence would not be 
 discovered. 
 
 " I came to speak to you about Mr. Quentin, Alixe ; 
 there must be no interference there ! " It was Ma- 
 dame's voice. When her sentence was half finished 
 Quentin was just about to cry out, " Oh ! dear Ma- 
 dame, don't talk of me, or I shall hear no good of 
 myself," but the second half of the sentence caused 
 him to sit as if he were a part of the tree itself. 
 
 He glanced downward, and for the first time he was 
 aware that the younger woman was reclining beneath 
 the tree, his tree, and that he was stalled, so to speak, 
 by her presence. Madame had evidently just followed 
 Alixe into the glade and was standing facing her. She 
 was panting breathlessly. 
 
 "I wish you not to interfere, do you hear? Not to 
 interfere." The words had poured forth so rapidly 
 that Quentin had no choice but to remain where he 
 was. 
 
 Madame's tone was decidedly sharp and impa- 
 tient. 
 
 "How can you stalk ahead so? Here I have been 
 actually chasing you up the hill. Your stride is like 
 a man's ! I couldn't make you hear me, though I 
 called and called ! Now, do you hear, Alixe, I will 
 have no interference with Mr. Quentin; he is my 
 friend." There was an emphasis on the personal 
 pronoun. 
 
 At the first sound of Madame's voice, Quentin had 
 been minded to declare himself, but now he sat as if 
 frozen to marble. The least word or sound from him
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 39 
 
 and lie should be forced to forsake this Paradise 
 within the hour. 
 
 "Interfere, mother? And why should I wish to 
 interfere? The man is nothing tome! God knows 
 that I have annoyances enough, without bringing 
 others upon myself. I cannot very well go away, 
 but I will shut myself up, if you wish." 
 
 "Absurd! Alixe. You know that those are things 
 that you cannot do, we should have a fine scandal, but 
 I wish you to understand that this is my own particu- 
 lar friend, and that the less you see of him " 
 
 " Why should I see anything of him?" exclaimed 
 Alixe with a tone and intonation that made Quentin's 
 heart to fail. " I am sure that he has taken no notice 
 of me, and probably will not. Don't be foolish, 
 mother. Ignore me utterly, as probably he will, 
 and as I shall ignore him." 
 
 Quentin in his amaze and mortification did not fail 
 to note that the younger called the older woman 
 " Mother, " plain and simple. There was no playful 
 " Mamasha " now, no " Madame," and no caress in the 
 word which did duty for both. 
 
 " You remember Baron Olsten, " continued Madame, 
 in her high voice, which had suddenly become shrill 
 and unpleasant, very different from the voice in which 
 she had said " You dear ! " to Quentin in the chalet 
 rooms the night before. "You remember also per- 
 haps Mr. Lauderdale, and the Marquis de Gelcon- 
 court " 
 
 "Was it my fault, mother? Their attentions were 
 hateful to me." 
 
 " —And Mr. le Maurier " 
 
 " Mother ! he seemed to me more like a detective 
 than anything else. He was so inquisitive and "
 
 40 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " — And then there was Henry Ware." 
 
 " Mother ! do not insult me ! I never looked at the 
 little man, I assure you. Why, moth " 
 
 "Do say Mamasha!" said Madame, looking anx- 
 iously over her shoulder. 
 
 "Mamasha," said Alixe, with no change of tone, 
 " I never looked at that underbred little man. Gartha 
 caught some of his sayings, and I was obliged to cor- 
 rect her for it. I never object to your asking whom 
 you will to the Abbey, but I must confess I was sur- 
 prised when " 
 
 "You seemed to be very attractive to him at 
 least " 
 
 "Mother! Mamasha! can I help that? I should 
 not know Mr. Henry Ware if he were to walk into the 
 glade this very moment." 
 
 "Well, he looked at you at all events." 
 
 "And can I help that? Do not annoy me with 
 these silly and hateful suspicious about people in 
 whom I take no interest. Do be more serious. Do 
 respect me more. Remember the conditions which 
 surround me, mother ; you of all people in the world 
 certainly should not forget." There was a piteous 
 emphasis on the word "you." Quentin's heart sank 
 still lower at these last words. " And if I am unfortu- 
 nate enough to " Alixe broke off and threw her- 
 self upon the grass, her face hidden in her hands. 
 
 " Oh, my dear God ! " she cried aloud. " Was ever 
 any poor creature more utterly alone in the world 
 than I?" 
 
 " You are not alone, Alixe, if you would comport 
 yourself like other people. You have Bruno." 
 
 " Bruno ! " The word so uttered told -Quentin more 
 than an hour of explanation could have done.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 41 
 
 Alixe sat upright and leaned her hand against the 
 tree where Quentin was crouched above her. She 
 turned about slowly and looked at Madame. Quentin 
 found himself gazing down upon her as if he must 
 read her very thoughts. He wished that he knew 
 what was in that look to cause Madame to turn hur- 
 riedly away. Quentin was horribly conscious that he 
 had tumbled upon a secret which was not intended for 
 his ears. He was in terror for fear that some falling 
 twig or leaf should cause one or the other to look up- 
 ward. 
 
 Alixe withdrew her eyes from Madame and sat with 
 her hat pushed back, her gaze fixed upon the white 
 headstone where Quentin had read the name of Allaire 
 Carleton, beloved wife of H. Valery, Esq. She ab- 
 sently pulled a stem of grass to pieces and threw the 
 little blue blossoms on the ground. 
 
 Quentin' s position, awkward at best, was becoming 
 almost unbearable. He felt that if they did not soon 
 go away he must discover himself and come down 
 from the tree. Suddenly, to relieve the situation, the 
 Abbey bell clanged out. The sound was sweet. It 
 rang across the valley and up the hill. Madame 
 turned away with an exclamation of annoyance. 
 
 " I had no idea that it was so late ! Will you come 
 down? Half past eight! What will they think of 
 me?" 
 
 Alixe arose. She said nothing. She had taken off 
 the Russian hat, and her head was bare. Quentin 
 saw the sun shining on the full waves of her hair, and 
 upon the silver combs pushed forward at the sides. 
 
 "Will you remember? " asked Madame, half turn- 
 ing at the edge of the glade. 
 
 "I will remember," answered Alixe.
 
 42 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Nothing more was said. Alixe paced slowly down 
 the slope, her trailing robe rolling the falling leaves 
 over and over with an early autumnal sound. Ma- 
 dame ran ahead, and was soon tick-tacking down the 
 hard forest road. 
 
 When they were well out of sight and hearing, 
 Quentin arose from his cramped posture in the tree. 
 He descended slowly and dropped to the place where 
 the young figure of Alixe had rested. He seated 
 himself where she had sat, and picked up from the 
 ground the blue-eyed grass which her long slim fingers 
 had pulled unconsciously to pieces. 
 
 "Poor soul!" he said aloud. "Poor soul!" and 
 was astonished to find that he had spoken. He put 
 the blossom in his breast pocket, and then with a 
 " Why not? " took it boldly out and thrust it within 
 the buttonhole of his coat. Then he, in his turn, 
 slowly descended the hill.
 
 m. 
 
 When Quentin rang at the door in the wall and was 
 admitted by Charles, he saw at a glance that there 
 were not many persons at the table. He advanced 
 along the terrace, curious to know who would be 
 seated there. The Archbishop from his place upon 
 Madame' s right gave him a kindly, if a stately bow, 
 and others nearer him looked up and bent their heads 
 slightly. Alixe was in her seat at the farther end of 
 the table, the Russian hat still upon her head, and 
 Gartha was close beside her. Madame was voluble, 
 and warmly welcoming. She pressed Quentin's hand. 
 Alixe did not raise her eyes. She was engaged in 
 preparing some food for Gartha. Many places were 
 empty which Quentin remembered to have seen oc- 
 cupied the night before by prettily dressed and black- 
 coated figures. 
 
 " The Baroness and Miss Thorndyke take their cof- 
 fee in their rooms, Charles," said Madame. "Has 
 Marie Monrouge served them? Mr. Le Brun and Mr. 
 Jennings have gone to town, you know, your Grace, 
 and Mrs. Jennings and her secretary never appear at 
 early breakfast." Charles and Eugene were occupied 
 in passing the cups of coffee which Madame was en- 
 gaged in preparing, cups so large as "to deserve the 
 name of bowls. Great plates of bread were set at 
 various places down the length of the table, and pitch-
 
 44 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 ers of steaming chocolate at intervals, that each one 
 might serve himself. Silver bowls and dishes, heaped 
 high respectively with strawberries, sugar, and iced 
 rolls of butter, held their own positions also, and bot- 
 tles of St. Galmier and Evian were placed between 
 every two of the guests. 
 
 "An egg? " asked Madame, in her sweetest of high 
 voices, beaming brightly on Quentin. 
 
 " Two, please, or three ! " said Quentin, endeavor- 
 ing to smile so broadly as to feel certain, later, that 
 he had overdone the effort to make his whereabouts 
 of a half hour earlier unsuspected. 
 
 Charles opened his mouth and stood regarding the 
 strange Monsieur. 
 
 " Two," he said. " Or even three ! " He went tow- 
 ard the door which opened into the kitchen. " Two 
 or even three. The hens of the Chateau Bref lay but 
 one egg at a time. Two, or even three ! Does the 
 strange Monsieur imagine that the cuisine of the 
 Chateau Bref holds three eggs for each guest. Sixty 
 eggs in a morning? Two, or even three. Oh! mon 
 Dieu!" 
 
 Quentin applied himself to his breakfast with the 
 devotion of a starved pedestrian. 
 
 There was no sound for a few moments but the 
 trickling of coffee into the great colored bowls, or 
 Eugene's "Sucre, Monsieur? Sucre, Madame? Cafe 
 au lait, Monsieur? Ah! du noir! Bien, Monsieur, 
 bien! C est gal" 
 
 The silence was broken by a footstep overhead. 
 Then a sound as if a chair had suddenly fallen. 
 Quentin involuntarily raised his eyes. As he did 
 so, he caught sight of Alixe rising abruptly from her 
 seat at the further end of the table. She stood for a
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 45 
 
 moment, irresolute, listening, and then sat down 
 again. 
 
 "Who is in Monsieur Quentin's rooms, Eugene?" 
 asked Madame in her high key. 
 
 "It is no one, Mamasha." Alixe had again arisen. 
 " Rather, I will go and see if Mr. Quentin will allow 
 me." 
 
 "Sit still, Alixe," called Madame, with heightened 
 color, "and do take off that dreadful hat." 
 
 "It — it — is the — other — maid," stammered Quen- 
 tin, arraying himself unconsciously on what he felt at 
 once to be the side of Alixe. 
 
 "We have no other maid but Nanette. She is 
 Alixe 's maid. Perhaps Henri went up to " 
 
 Alixe with no reply to Madame had left her chair 
 and was now at the chalet stairs. 
 
 Quentin arose also with a careless " I will go and 
 see," and followed slowly to the archway. Madame 
 looked annoyed and half arose, but at the Arch- 
 bishop's calm "Do not disturb yourself, my friend," 
 she seated herself. Quentin thought that he knew 
 the cause of Alixe's disappearance, though he hardly 
 knew why he was following 'her. He mounted the 
 stairs lingeringly, reached the floor of his bedroom 
 and haltingly entered. 
 
 The door which led into the dressing room was un- 
 bolted. He paused, then passed with increasing hesi- 
 tancy toward the doorway. Ho wished to be within 
 call should he be needed, and yet, he was not at home ; 
 a stranger here. He listened, but heard no voices. 
 He entered the middle room; it 'was empty. Ashe 
 halted, again irresolute, Alixe came hastening toward 
 him from the third room, the so-called closet. She 
 breathed as if she had been running. She had a key
 
 46 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 in her hand. She walked swiftly through the disor- 
 dered rooms, Quentin following her. She paused for 
 a moment on the landing outside his door. 
 
 " I — I — thought that Mamasha had put you in the 
 left wing," she said. "I made a mistake. I hope 
 that you will pardon it." 
 
 "Pardon? Pardon what, Mad " 
 
 " All, " she replied. She gave him a look pregnant 
 with meaning and hastened down the stairs. 
 
 As Quentin again took his seat, he heard Alixe 
 laughing gayly. Perhaps it was his late experience 
 which made the laughter seem forced to him. 
 
 "Only the same old thing, Mamasha," she called 
 down the length of the table. " I hardly know whether 
 it is the wind or the rats, and in broad daylight too ! " 
 
 " I will answer for it that there is no rat behind 
 your arras, Madame," said the Archbishop, smiling at 
 his neighbour. 
 
 "Hola! Hola! What a fine company have we 
 here! And, pray, who are all these good people?" 
 
 There was a slight suspicion of an Hibernian accent 
 in the good natured tone. 
 
 " Valery ! " said Madame in an explanatory whisper 
 to the Archbishop. " Bear with him if you can, your 
 Grace." 
 
 " The Rastaquouere? " asked the Archbishop under 
 his breath, with an indulgent smile. " I am delighted ! 
 I am in luck ! " 
 
 "Yes," said Madame, with a sigh of pity for her- 
 self, " the Rastaquouere ! " 
 
 " Papachen ! papachen ! " It was Gartha who had 
 arisen from her chair and had flown at this bird of 
 gorgeous plumage. "When did you get here? You 
 said you would come back last night."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 47 
 
 "Petite polissonne, come back to your eating," 
 screamed Mademoiselle, who loved to air her Eng- 
 lish. 
 
 The new arrival sauntered up to the table. The 
 sweetest of odours came with him, preceded him al- 
 most. 
 
 "I hate a perfumed man," said Madame in an 
 undertone to Quentin. 
 
 "You promised to come back last night, Valery," 
 said Gartha; "I watched and watched " 
 
 " So I did, little one, but, you know, I was born to 
 break promises." 
 
 He seated himself as near Alixe and as far from 
 Madame as circumstances would permit. 
 
 "He doesn't wear an electric light in his scarf pin," 
 whispered Miss Jenkins to Quentin. " I am so dis- 
 appointed ! I had at the least expected that ! You 
 know, like the little man who goes round thimble-rig- 
 ging in the Paris cafes." 
 
 "I don't know this gentleman as well as I do the 
 other," answered Quentin, "but I should say that he 
 was a touch above that." 
 
 " Well, I suppose there is no one who has not a 
 mission in life," returned the speaker, "either con- 
 sciously or unconsciously. His seems to be to keep 
 other men up to the mark in the way of neatness of 
 person and dress. Heaven forbid that they should 
 emulate his magnificence and variety of color and 
 adornment." 
 
 "Gorgeous being, though, he is," broke in Mary 
 Thorndyke ; " there is nothing, well, what you would 
 call common about him; he is " 
 
 "Most uncommon, I should say," returned Miss 
 Jenkins.
 
 48 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 He was a butterfly of the first and clearest water, 
 this Bastaquouere. He was immaculate. Most men 
 appear fresh and spotless on a summer morning, but 
 the dazzling snowiness of the newcomer's linen caused 
 each man at the table to cast a hasty glance downward 
 at his own shirt front. The waistcoat of the new- 
 comer was of pale green, ornamented with large white 
 pearl buttons, and was crossed by a conspicuously 
 heavy chain of gold. His light grey coat was of thin 
 flannel, and his white trousers were of the same ma- 
 terial. Upon his feet he wore low shoes of fine rus- 
 set leather, and when he moved sufficiently his yellow 
 socks, clocked with blue, showed a studied care for 
 his entire person. His necktie of delicate pink, his 
 sleeve links, his studs, the middle one of which showed 
 a large opal set with diamonds, his finger rings, which 
 were many and blazed like the constellations of the 
 heavens, his almost crimson face, short nose, china 
 blue eyes, and red, well kept moustache, plentifully 
 sprinkled with grey, made a combination not easily 
 forgotten. 
 
 Gartha struggled at once with sinuous persistent 
 motion up to his knees, and wound her arms round 
 his large neck, thereby disarranging the necktie, and 
 creasing the waistcoat, which had heretofore sat so 
 smoothly over the portly figure beneath. 
 
 The newcomer sat patiently, while the child caressed 
 him, pulling his moustache apart that she might im- 
 print a kiss directly upon his lips ; drawing from his 
 well-kept fingers his many gorgeous and enormous 
 rings, and hanging them upon her own little paws, 
 from which they fell one after the other; jerking his 
 heavy watch from his pocket, and putting it to her 
 ear, insisting upon knowing what was the time in
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 49 
 
 Africa at the moment. Then denuding him of the 
 chain also, she hung it round her own brown neck. 
 Suddenly the victim lifted the jewel-bedecked little 
 creature from his knee, seated her on the gravel be- 
 side his chair, and held out his bowl for some coffee. 
 
 There was silence for a while, disturbed only by 
 the breaking of an egg, or a murmured sentence, from 
 some one, in the ear of a near neighbour. 
 
 Valery set down his empty cup. " How Alixe spoils 
 you ! " said he, looking down on the dark little head 
 by his side. 
 
 Gartha arose and stood by the table, glittering like 
 the Queen of Sheba. 
 
 " You spoil her, Vale^, " said Alixe, laughing. 
 
 "So does every one," said Valery, in a pleasant, 
 tolerant voice. 
 
 "You spoil me yourself, Alixe," said Gartha. 
 "Mamasha says you do." 
 
 " I like to spoil you, " said Alixe. " You are the only 
 one I have to spoil." 
 
 "Did you never have a little girl of your own, 
 Alixe? " asked Gartha. 
 
 "No," answered Alixe, unembarrassed by this 
 pointed question and looking straight into Gartha' s 
 eyes. " If I had, I should have wanted her to be just 
 like Gartha." At this compliment Gartha laughed 
 gayly. 
 
 There was a short silence, broken in a moment by 
 Gartha. 
 
 "Valery," she said, " what is a Eastaquouere? " 
 
 Valery set down his second cup carefully, wiped 
 
 his moustache and leaned back so far that there seemed 
 
 to be danger of his going over on to the gravel behind 
 
 him. He turned his head toward the end of the table 
 
 4
 
 50 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 where Madame, having caught the question, sat look- 
 ing down and growing somewhat red. 
 
 "Mamasha," he called, "you taught her that." 
 
 "I did not, Valery," came back in Madame's high 
 key. 
 
 "Well, then, she heard you say it." 
 
 " I am not responsible for all that Gartha hears, 
 Valery. Alixe indulges the child to such an ex- 
 tent " 
 
 "But she heard you say it, Mamasha. Now, 
 didn't she?" 
 
 The Archbishop's keen eyes were fixed on Madame. 
 
 She hesitated— "Well, well—" she finally answered 
 — "and are you not, Valery, dear? " 
 
 " You made her think it a term of reproach, Ma- 
 masha." 
 
 "Oh, no, no! Valery, dear," called Madame down 
 the vista of glass and silver. " But— but— and isn't 
 it— well, you know— rather — Valery, dear? " 
 
 "Rather what? A term of reproach? No; I have 
 had no cause to think so, Mamasha, me jool! and 
 neither will you when you see into my boxes. Don't 
 you think your views are somewhat — ah— colored by 
 circumstances? Oh, fie! Mamasha; oh, fie!" 
 
 Valery's comic tone of reproof brought a smile, if 
 a concealed one, to every lip. It somewhat discon- 
 certed Madame. She was put so entirely in the wrong 
 before those with whom she wished to seem entirely 
 in the right. She glanced at Quentin, who was smil- 
 ing more at Valery's manner and brogue than at the 
 subject of his words. She reached out her hand, has- 
 tily seized a glass of water and as hurriedly swal- 
 lowed it. 
 
 " Poor old Mamasha ! " said Valery.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 51 
 
 Madame' s cheek flushed, but she made some trivial 
 remark to the Archbishop, and then turned to Quen- 
 
 tin. 
 
 " You have no idea what the care of such a house 
 as this entails upon me, Mr. Quentin," she said. 
 
 " Dear old Mamasha ! " exclaimed Valery again. 
 
 " I am sure you are more than good to ask us all 
 here and give yourself so much trouble about us," re- 
 plied Quentin. 
 
 She turned a pleased face toward him. 
 
 "Dear friend," she said, "you are too kind." 
 
 Meanwhile Gartha was clamoring: "Your boxes! 
 Your boxes! When are they coming? When are 
 they coming? " 
 
 "They are coming," said Valery, resuming his in- 
 terrupted meal. 
 
 The Archbishop leaned forward with interest. 
 
 "Boxes?" he said. "Ha— hum! Boxes? He is 
 a good son of the church, is he not, Madame? " 
 
 "I wish that Alixe were as good a daughter," said 
 Madame. 
 
 "They are talking about us down there," said Gar- 
 tha, in plainly audible tones. 
 
 The Archbishop cleared his throat in a politely re- 
 pressed manner. 
 
 "I— I— was saying to— to— ahem! your aunt, my 
 dear, that I wish your — the Duchess were as good a 
 daughter of the church as your father is a son." 
 
 " Aunt ! " exclaimed Valery in an undertone. " Aunt, 
 eh! That's a new reading," and then in a voice that 
 caused his neighbor, the Baroness, to wince, as if at 
 the sound of a drum, "that's what I'm always telling 
 her, your Grace. Isn't it, Alixe? " 
 
 "Yes, you are certainly ! " smiled Alixe.
 
 52 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "I wish that you were a daughter of Mother 
 Church," repeated the Archbishop. 
 
 "The old question, your Grace," said Alixe, look- 
 ing brightly at him. 
 
 " She shall be in time, your Grace," said Madame, 
 assuringly. 
 
 "Do not make any propaises for me, Mamasha," 
 said Alixe, with great seriousness. " It is all that I 
 can do to keep my own promises." 
 
 Quentin's eyes were drawn to where Alixe sat. It 
 seemed to him that all eyes were attracted toward her, 
 that at whichever end she seated herself, that end must 
 ever be the head of the table. She sat, her elbows, 
 from which the loose sleeves had fallen away, resting 
 on the board before her, her fingers clasped under- 
 neath a very determined looking chin. He mentally 
 decided that here was a personality which no one 
 could coerce, least of all Madame, Madame with her 
 weak, pretty mouth, and her sweetly shrill or petulant 
 tones, according as to who there was to hear. 
 
 To Quentin it seemed as if Madame were ever 
 silently apologizing to this tall girl called Alixe, who 
 never reproached her. The younger woman met the 
 elder ever with a pleasant smile. She said little about 
 the orders for the household — in fact, she did not in- 
 terfere. Madame was apparently the mistress here. 
 
 He wondered why the younger woman did not show 
 her splendid height. She was taller than any woman 
 there ; as tall as most men. Quentin's fine height of 
 an inch over six feet did not look down upon her by 
 more than three inches. She carried her shoulders 
 drawn upward. Her head a little down drooped, but 
 occasionally, when for some reason she seemed to for- 
 get herself in admiration of a thrilling tale, or in an
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 53 
 
 involuntary greeting to a friend, she raised her head 
 and straightened herself to her full height. 
 
 " Gartha, take your arms off the table, " said Valery . 
 
 "ButAlixe — " began Gartha. 
 
 " Alixe is different," said Valery. 
 
 Alixe was lost in thought. She did not appear con- 
 scious of the discussion, and Quentin acknowledged 
 to himself that all that she did was indeed done with 
 a difference. 
 
 " How many nationalities are represented round this 
 table ! " remarked Miss Thorndyke. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Spencer, "and in France, too, 
 and not one Frenchman or woman present — if we ex- 
 cept the servants, to be sure." 
 
 "His Grace," said Alixe, looking up, "you forget 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, yes! The Archbishop, certainly." 
 
 "And the Baroness," said Valery. 
 
 "She is an Italian," said Miss Spencer. 
 
 "And Mademoiselle," said Valery. 
 
 "Yes, but no more." 
 
 "And my Uncle Bruno," said Gartha. "Ah, bah! 
 how I hate my Uncle Bruno ! " 
 
 Every one but Alixe showed their amusement by 
 laughing at Gartha's speech. 
 
 " Why do you give me an oeillade like that, Alixe? " 
 
 "You are in your Uncle Bruno's house, Gartha," 
 said Alixe, gravely. "He need not be included." 
 
 " Dieu merci ! " said Gartha openly. 
 
 " ' Bruno's house ! ' I like that ! " said Valery aside 
 to Miss Spencer. 
 
 Gartha, opening her eyes very wide, exclaimed, " I 
 thought it was Mamasha's ! Nom de Dieu !" 
 
 "So every one thinks," confided Valery to Miss
 
 54 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Spencer, " and the funny part of it is she never con- 
 tradicts 'em. I think she has begun to believe it her- 
 self." 
 
 "Bruno's!" returned Miss Spencer in an under- 
 tone, which was full of subtle meaning. " That is too 
 good." 
 
 ' Your Uncle Bruno is not a Frenchman," said Miss 
 Thorndyke; " he is a Spaniard !" 
 
 "If Bruno had had his way," continued Miss Spen- 
 cer in Valery 's ear, " there wouldn't be much of it left 
 by now. I hear that before Mamasha married him to 
 Alixe he had dissipated half the property." 
 
 "She needs a guardian," said Valery. "They all 
 do, in fact, Mamasha as well as the rest of 'em." He 
 looked down at the tablecloth. "I see she's got a 
 new one," he said in an undertone behind his mous- 
 tache. 
 
 "She is always getting a new one," returned Miss 
 Spencer, watching Alixe to see that she did not hear. 
 
 " He's a well set-up chap. Where did she pick hin? 
 up?" 
 
 "At some watering place, I believe." 
 
 "That's where she always gets 'em," said Valery. 
 " She corresponds with 'em and gets 'em down here, 
 and then makes 'em fetch and carry, but, then, she's 
 still a fairly good-looking little woman by lamplight 
 and under a veil, is Mamasha." 
 
 "She has a phenomenal back," acquiesced Miss 
 Jenkins. " You might take her for nineteen if you 
 walk behind her. How old is she, Mr. Valery? " 
 
 "Who? Mamasha? Let — me — see. Mamasha 
 must be — well, Mamasha must be all of forty-three ; 
 she was married at seventeen. Yes, that's gospel, I 
 know it."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 55 
 
 " You were talking of the nationalities represented 
 here," said Miss Thorndyke from across the table, 
 breaking in on this confidential conversation. " Al- 
 most every known nationality. Russian " 
 
 " Where is a Eussian? " asked Valery. 
 
 "Madame." 
 
 "Oh, is she a Eussian?" 
 
 "Is she not?" 
 
 "American, pure and simple." 
 
 "Where does she get her accent then? " whispered 
 Miss Spencer. 
 
 " Where she gets most of the rest of her make-be- 
 lieves," confided Valery, who was chafing under Ma- 
 dame's ridicule of him. " Where she gets her lisp 
 and her baby ways. They take some people in, but 
 they can't " 
 
 "I'm an American girl, "said Miss Thorndyke, who 
 looked much older than Madame, " but I'm often taken 
 for English." 
 
 "Girl, I think you said?" inquired the Easta- 
 quouere. "Oh, I was only rounding out your sen- 
 tence for you," as he saw the angry glance which 
 Miss Thorndyke flashed back at him. " Well, I'm 
 never taken for an Englishman, thank God." 
 
 "No, you would hardly be that," returned Miss. 
 Thorndyke, eyeing him critically. 
 
 "See that now! Talk to a woman about her 
 a " 
 
 Here Valery was interrupted, much to Miss Thorn- 
 dyke's relief. 
 
 Gartha was standing by Valery 's side. She leaned 
 over and looked proudly up and down the table. 
 
 "Eastaquouere," she said, "is only m} r Papa's 
 branche de commerce — affaire, occupation, ah, bah!
 
 56 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 How I hate tliat French. His real name is Hilary 
 Valery." 
 
 " It might as well be Alibone-crackibone ! " said Ma- 
 dame in a low tone to Quentin, who found himself 
 smiling at the quaint conceit. " Valery 's name always 
 reminds me of the way American children do what 
 they call ' counting out,'" continued Madame, who 
 had a humor of her own and a grudge against the sub- 
 ject of her remarks. 
 
 " Oner j — twoery — ziclcery — zan—Hilery — Valery — 
 Don't — you — knoiv ! " 
 
 Quentin was tempted to burst into hilarious laugh- 
 ter, but the proprieties permitted only a contraction of 
 the corners of his mouth. The last words were jerked 
 out by Madame with the same emphasis as those 
 which had preceded them. The Archbishop leaned 
 toward the reciter trying to follow her. He knew a 
 little English, but his acquaintance was with English 
 books and not with the language fluently spoken, 
 least of all with American jokes. 
 
 " Je ne comprends pas," he said, with a puzzled 
 look. 
 
 Madame repeated her words, but they were as 
 the language of the Chinese to the prelate's unac- 
 customed ear. Whereupon Madame entered into 
 a lengthy explanation in French, in which she 
 was quite at home. The Archbishop was a close 
 listener to the painstaking sentences of Madame. 
 When she came to the words "Alibone-crackibone" 
 he laughed irrepressibly, repeating the sounds sev- 
 eral times, rolling them over upon his tongue with 
 gusto. 
 
 "They are laughing at us down there," said Gartha 
 to her father- Then, raising her voice and looking at
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 57 
 
 Madame defiantly, she added, " It is a beautiful name, 
 though Mamasha thinks No." 
 
 " So it is, dear ! " said Alixe, patting Gartha's lit- 
 tle brown claw. 
 
 "You lose, Mamasha," shouted Valeiy along the 
 vista of bowls and syphons. 
 
 " That dreadful man ! " murmured Madame. Then 
 in a louder tone, " So it is, Gartha dear ! " 
 
 "You win, dear old Mamasha," shouted Valery 
 again. 
 
 " Don't wait," said Madame, bowing down the table, 
 uncertain what turn Valery 's remarks would take next. 
 "Breakfast is an informal meal, you know." Most 
 of the seats were vacated at the permission so gra- 
 ciously given, the guests sauntering along the terrace 
 by twos and threes.
 
 IV. 
 
 Quentin found himself standing at the open grille, 
 in front of which the carriage was waiting. " Par- 
 kere," the English coachman, whom Quentin shortly 
 discovered was saluted in his own country by the 
 name of Barker, sat on the box, whip in hand, stiff 
 as a statue. Occasionally, it is true, he permitted him- 
 self a little liberty, somewhat relaxing his truly Brit- 
 ish vertebrae, for what did them Frenckies h' under- 
 stand of coachmen, and what did they compre'end of 
 "osses he would like to know? Barker had been de- 
 graded into the cinnamon-colored coat so dear to the 
 hearts of the Parisian noblesse, and how could he 
 have the moral courage to preserve the stolidity of 
 the imported English coachmen, when his mongrel 
 appearance was so decidedly against the supposition 
 that he was one of them? 
 
 "Parkere est smart, tres smart, " remarked the Bar- 
 oness. The Baroness, if reduced to making intermin- 
 able visits to her wealthy friends, so that Monsieur le 
 Baron need not be docked of his daily glasses of ab- 
 sinthe as he sat in front of Maxim's, got a sort of 
 equivalent from those loiterings of his which was the 
 bringing home to her by the Baron of the latest Pari- 
 sian slang learned at Maxim's and which she could 
 retail to her friends. 
 
 " Holloa ! that's my old friend Barker ! " exclaimed
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 59 
 
 Valery. "Barker, your horses are too fat. All French 
 horses are too fat except those little rats on the Champs 
 Elyse'es." 
 
 Barker smiled appreciatively and commendingly. 
 
 Valery stood contemplating the carriage, the horses, 
 the coachman, all got up in the very latest French 
 idea of style. 
 
 " Who are those people over across the valley, Bar- 
 ker? " asked he. " Those who drive such a swell turn- 
 out?" 
 
 "Dose vith ze boule dogue," added the Baroness. 
 
 " I believe they did have a bull dog. They were 
 what you would call tres smart, Baroness. Who are 
 they, Barker? " 
 
 Barker turned fraternally toward this Irish gentle- 
 man who knew what good horses were. 
 
 "You wouldn't know 'em, sir," he said. 
 
 "I wouldn't know 'em? Indeed, then, would I. 
 They might give me a mount now and then." 
 
 "No, sir!" reiterated Barker. "You wouldn't 
 know 'em. There's plenty of mounts in h'our stables, 
 sir. You wouldn't know them parties, sir. They 
 jobs their 'osses, sir." 
 
 Valery chuckled. " I job my own," he said, " when 
 I have any." 
 
 Barker allowed the iron in his back to relax. He 
 leaned slightly toward the Rastaquouere and said, 
 "Mr. Valery, sir, can I speak with you a minute?" 
 
 The men were putting the Archbishop's modest lug- 
 gage on behind. 
 
 " What is it, Barker? Don't they pay you enough? 
 That's Madame. You must go to the Duchess, 
 she " 
 
 Barker leaned down confidentially, if stiffly.
 
 60 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "H'l asks you as a gentleman, Mr. Valery, who 
 know what things is, not as h'l hever wishes to com- 
 plain, but h'l asks you as a gentleman, in confidence, 
 if you really do think they pays me enough, an' me 
 wearin' a coat like that " — Barker stretched out his 
 arm and contemplated its cinnamon colored covering. 
 
 Valery took the coachman in with critical, compre- 
 hensive look. 
 
 "Barker," he said finally, with solemn tone, "it 
 would be hard to keep one's self unspotted of the 
 world in such a coat as that. It is — really — awful ! 
 A man loses his self respect " 
 
 ' Yes, sir, an' takes to drink an' loses control of the 
 'osses." 
 
 " I should resign from the British House of Lords 
 if I were forced to wear such a coat as that. Be pa- 
 tient until I have a talk with Madame, and when you 
 come back from the station, I will tell vou her ver- 
 dict." 
 
 "A cinnamon top-coat," said Valery, laughing over 
 Barker's confidences a little later. " You can fairly 
 smell him. 'Isles of the Blest, ' and all that sort of 
 thing. ' What though the spicy breezes blow soft 
 o'er Ceylon's isle.' They'd put him in a show in 
 London." 
 
 " What is it? " Madame asked of Charles, who was 
 standing persistently behind her chair, and interrupt- 
 ing her last words with the Archbishop, for they had 
 been left alone at the table. 
 
 "The carriage for his Grace, Madame." 
 
 "Is the luggage in? " asked Madame. 
 
 " 'Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? ' " quoted the 
 prelate regretfully. " Is it possible that my hour has
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 61 
 
 come? " He arose and walked to the edge of the ter- 
 race'. He stood looking down for a moment on the 
 ruin, and the valley, now smiling in the sunshine. 
 Then he turned to Madame, who had followed him. 
 
 "Will you send the Duchess here? " he said. 
 
 Madame approached Alixe, who was standing, with 
 Gartha hanging to her arm, a little further along the 
 terrace. 
 
 Alixe turned at once, and Quentin fancied that she 
 cast a half perceptible glance at him, but he did not 
 move toward her, neither did he follow her with his 
 eyes. 
 
 Some of the guests had seated themselves beneath 
 the broad tree under which Quentin had seen Madame 
 and the Archbishop talking on the previous night. 
 Valery, returning from his conference with Barker, 
 suddenly seized Gartha up from the ground. She 
 struggled violently, to the great disarrangement of 
 her clothing. Some of the rings slipped off her fin- 
 gers and rolled in the gravel. 
 
 "I hate money for money's sake," said Madame in 
 a low tone to Quentin, whom she had joined. He 
 hardly heard what she had said. He was uncon- 
 sciously straining his ears for a word from that tall 
 pair standing beyond the great tree's shade. The 
 sun shone down on them and enveloped them with a 
 brightness which was dazzling. Finally, they began 
 to move slowly toward the entrance gate. Quentin 
 caught some low indistinct words as they passed him 
 by. He thought that they sounded like "I cannot 
 promise." 
 
 Whereupon the Archbishop bowed a cold good-bye 
 to Alixe, took Madame's soft, warm hand in his own 
 and held it just a moment longer than friendliness re-
 
 62 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 quired, pressed something into the palm of Charles, 
 and was gone. As he disappeared, Madame called 
 to the Rastaquouere. 
 
 "Valery," she said sharply, "I wish you would 
 come here a moment." 
 
 "Dear old Mamasha can't live without her young- 
 est, can she?" said Valery, raising his weighty figure 
 out of the easy chair, where he had just seated him- 
 self, to enjoy his cigar with the men of the party. 
 He approached Madame slowly, keeping his cigar 
 alight, but when he reached the place where she was 
 standing, holding it down under cover of his hand. 
 
 "What is it, Mamasha? " asked he good naturedly. 
 
 " Valery, there is one habit that I wish you would 
 break yourself of." Madame spoke sharply. There 
 was a red spot on each soft cheek. 
 
 "Gracious! How handsome you look, Mamasha. 
 I have half a mind to kiss you." Madame, somewhat 
 mollified, continued: 
 
 " I do wish, Valery, that you would not address me 
 as you do." 
 
 "How? Mamasha? Always called you Mamasha. 
 Thought you liked it. We're both too old to change 
 now, I fancy. What shall I call you. Moth " 
 
 Madame 's brow had grown darker with each suc- 
 ceeding word of his speech. 
 
 " No ! No ! No ! Don't be stupid. You wilfully 
 misunderstand me, I think, sometimes." 
 
 " What's the woman driving at ! " exclaimed the cul- 
 prit, gazing about him with a mystified air. 
 
 "You know what you said, perfectly, Valery." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "At breakfast." 
 
 "I said, poor, dear Mamasha,"
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 63 
 
 " No, Valery, you did not. It is the other adjec- 
 tive which you used to which I seriously object." 
 
 "I didn't say damn, did I?" asked Valery, all in- 
 nocence. 
 
 " No, Valery, you did not. Offensive as such words 
 are to me, that would have been much less offensive 
 thanwh at you did say. You said 'dear old Mamasha, 
 poor old Mamasha. ' I have said before that I dislike 
 this mode of address." 
 
 " Why ! I say 'poor old Alixe, ' often, " said Valery, 
 justifying himself as best he could, " and I have even 
 been known to say ' dear old Gartha. 
 
 : ' Very well ! If they like it ; but I must say that I 
 do not." 
 
 "Do you mind if I say ' dear little Mamasha,' or 
 ' poor little Mamasha? ' " 
 
 " No, Valery, not in the least. It is the adjective, 
 as I told you, which makes all the difference. Now, 
 I beg of you, remember." 
 
 "I will remember, Mamasha, certainly," replied 
 her son-in-law, as he retraced his steps to the seat from 
 which she had summoned him. His words were not 
 very distinguishable, for he was endeavoring to re- 
 light his cigar by drawing upon the end between his 
 lips. He repeated, as if learning a lesson, " The ad- 
 jective must not agree with the object to whom it is 
 applied, or the object will seriously disagree with 
 me." 
 
 "Will you come to my room, Alixe? " said Madame 
 as Valery walked away . 
 
 " Had you not better come to mine? " returned Alixe 
 in the tone of one who preferred her own vantage 
 ground. Madame, seeming vanquished already, ac- 
 quiesced.
 
 64 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " That dreadful room with the iron doors ! " said 
 Miss Spencer, with a becoming shudder. " Have you 
 ever seen it, Mr. Quentin? " 
 
 Quentin, who was in no mood for a morning tete-a- 
 tete with Miss Spencer, answered "No" almost 
 shortly, and sauntered away, his hands in his pock- 
 ets. He loitered about the further end of the terrace 
 for a half hour, talking with no one, smoking vio- 
 lently, wondering when Madame would come to re- 
 deem her promise and show him the ruins, wonder- 
 ing also whether she had taken Alixe away to coerce 
 her into the Archbishop's desires. Finally Gartha 
 came flying along the esplanade. She came abruptly 
 up to Quentin. 
 
 " Mamasha says that she has mal a la tete — Ah, bah ! 
 that French ! — ache in the head, and cannot come down 
 again this morning." 
 
 "That child's manners leave much to be desired," 
 remarked Miss Spencer in an audible tone. Miss 
 Spencer was making a water color of the Abbey. She 
 had moved her easel nearer Quentin 's end of the ter- 
 race. 
 
 "Trees are green, not blue," said Gartha, glancing 
 over Miss Spencer's shoulder. Then, looking at 
 Quentin, " Valery will come to take you for the fish- 
 ing." 
 
 "I'm sure that it is very kind of your father " 
 
 began Quentin. 
 
 "Oh, don't mention it," shouted the Eastaquouere, 
 as he issued from the little door near the gate. 
 
 Quentin remembered to have once gone in New York 
 to see a so-called " lightning-change artist," and as he 
 surveyed Valery 's very appropriate fishing costume, 
 he could not help a feeling of wonder as to whether
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 65 
 
 lie had made his fortune in that way. He found his 
 new acquaintance a jolly, good natured soul, with 
 plenty of Irish wit, much shrewdness, and a genuine 
 love of sport. The talk was principally of fish and 
 their habits, but, though the two anglers whipped the 
 stream, they found little to reward their endeavors. 
 The day was too sunny, Valery declared. The head- 
 ache of Madame he commented on freely — too freely, 
 Quentin thought, to an entire stranger like himself, 
 but these comments met with no response from him. 
 He could but be amused at Valery 's frankness, al- 
 though he was not of the sort who discuss one's host 
 with comparative strangers, or, in fact, with any one. 
 5
 
 V. 
 
 A pair of hungry men entered the door of the cha- 
 teau as the breakfast bell clanged forth its grateful 
 summons. It seemed to Quentin as he ran along 
 toward his rooms to make himself presentable that 
 these people were forever occupied in the business of 
 eating. He came down to find Madame seated at her 
 place, smiling, but somewhat red about the eyes. 
 The guests came straggling along, one or two at a 
 time. Alixe was in her seat opposite Madame, at the 
 extreme end of the table. Gartha was in hers, and 
 across from Gartha upon the right of Alixe sat a black 
 robed figure. It was the priest whom Quentin had 
 seen twice before during his short stay, once upon the 
 road, and again asleep in the mysterious little dress- 
 ing room. The breakfast was but just under way 
 when Valery came walking quickly from the chateau 
 along the terrace. He was, as ever, immaculate, but 
 the pale green waistcoat had given way to a knitted 
 one of chocolate and rose, the pink cravat to one of 
 blue, the red shoes to shoes of tan, and the suit to a 
 combination of white duck and a light brown frock 
 coat. This was not altogether so startling a costume 
 as the one of the early morning, but picturesque in 
 its way. 
 
 "Hola! Bob, how are you?" nodded Valery, ex-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 67 
 
 tending his left hand unceremoniously to the priest. 
 " Can't take a meal, it seems, without some of your 
 craft to bless the food. Had his Grace at early break- 
 fast." 
 
 The priest dropped Yalery's hand, started, and 
 looked at Alixe. 
 
 "It is true," she said, "but he has returned to 
 Paris." 
 
 Just here there was heard the sound of approach- 
 ing wheels along the road from the direction of Mon- 
 cousis. 
 
 "His Grace returning," shrieked Madame, looking 
 at Alixe with a helpless, frightened stare. 
 
 The priest started, and at once stood up, holding 
 by the back of his chair, turning his eyes undecidedly 
 from one to the other. 
 
 " Get down ! Get down behind the table ! " shrilled 
 Madame. " He must not find you here." 
 
 There was a confused sound of voices. Quentin 
 stood regarding the priest with interest to see what he 
 would do. The vehicle drew up at the gate. There 
 was a clang at the bell. 
 
 " Get down ! Get down ! " again excitedly called 
 Madame, in a whisper that could have been heard at 
 the entrance. " He has only come back for something 
 he has forgotten. He will not stay." 
 
 "Perhaps he has lost his train," said Valery. 
 
 " Alixe, what did I tell you ? J I r ha t did I tell you ? " 
 tearfully said Madame. " I expected exactly some 
 such thing, and after I promised! What a contre- 
 temps ! " 
 
 Eugene ran to open the gate. 
 
 "Down! Do you hear me? Robert, get down!" 
 called Madame again.
 
 68 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " How I shall despise him, " thought Quentin, " if 
 he hides himself behind those women ! " 
 
 The priest stood uncertain, irresolute, as if not 
 knowing what to do, but at a decided " You will not 
 get down ! Stand your ground ! You are my guest. 
 No one has the right " from Alixe, he straight- 
 ened himself, and stood, pale and handsome, looking 
 defiantly around him. 
 
 Valery had left his chair and had advanced toward 
 the gate. 
 
 "What a commotion all about nothing," he called 
 back to them. "It's only my boxes." 
 
 At these reassuring words Madame was herself 
 again. 
 
 The priest reseated himself, and the meal pro- 
 gressed, though not quite as if nothing had happened. 
 There seemed to be a feeling of constraint among the 
 guests, and some of them glanced distrustfully at 
 Father Halle. 
 
 When the long dejeuner was finished, Madame took 
 Quentin a little apart. 
 
 "I was sorry to disappoint you this morning," said 
 she, "but I am not feeling quite well." The pretty 
 blue eyes filled with tears. " Were you ever misun- 
 derstood? It is dreadful to be misunderstood. It 
 seems as if I were forever being misunderstood. Do 
 not misunderstand me, my friend." 
 
 "I could not," answered Quentin fervently, forget- 
 ting everything for the moment but the tearful, plead- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " Just now in the heat of the day every one goes off 
 for a siesta. You must go and rest yourself, my 
 friend. I will send you some books and La Nouvelle 
 Eevue. I must see to the unpacking of Valery 's
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 69 
 
 boxes. He is sure to make a litter. They are so 
 thoughtless, those wanderers. Later, I will show you 
 the ruin. I will send Charles to call you at five, when 
 tea is ready." 
 
 Quentin felt like a bad child to be sent off to bed in 
 this way. He would have been glad to aid the Kas- 
 taquouere in his unpacking or to do anything to while 
 away the time, but he had not been invited to do so, 
 and he thought it rather soon to offer his services. 
 The various women disappeared within the great 
 doors of the chateau. The men, most of ' /hom he 
 characterized in his thoughts as "popinjays," walked 
 lazily off, their cigarettes alight. He saw Mademoi- 
 selle pass along the terrace holding Gartha's hand, a 
 pile of books under her arm ; and he also saw two 
 other figures vanish along the shaded walk of the 
 flower garden. They were the two figures which he 
 had seen on the evening of his arrival. Was it only 
 the previous evening? He could not have believed 
 that so much could have happened in so short a time. 
 He turned away to the seclusion of his rooms, feeling 
 strangely lonely, feeling that his visit had been a mis- 
 take perhaps, and that a convenient telegram from 
 Paris, in answer to a letter from himself, written that 
 evening, should take him away as soon as possible.
 
 VI. 
 
 Quentin went up the chalet stairs. He threw him- 
 self lazily upon the low, old fashioned couch. There 
 was a knock at the door. It was Pierre Monrouge 
 with an armful of books. Quentin chose the " Pierre 
 Nosiere " of Anatole France, and had soon forgotten 
 his annoyance in those first pages of the early remin- 
 iscences of a child of five years. " Charming ! Charm- 
 ing!" he murmured; his eyelids closed upon a mov- 
 ing panorama of Noah and his wife, his sons and their 
 wives, followed by all the animals of the clan issuing 
 from the ark, the final figure being Joseph, who had 
 escaped from his captors and was anachronically 
 making a low bow to the patriarch, and saying, "Bon- 
 jour, Monsieur. Bonjour! C'est encore moi, Mon- 
 sieur. C'est encore moi !" Quentin awoke with a 
 start, to find that Joseph had been metamorphosed 
 into Pierre Monrouge, who was bowing low and say- 
 ing that " Feefe o'clock " was ready, and would the 
 Monsieur have the bonte to join Madame? 
 
 Quentin made a hasty toilet and emerged upon the 
 terrace, for the twentieth time, it seemed to him, since 
 his arrival. He approached the long table within the 
 recess underneath the chalet, but it was bare of cloth, 
 or porcelain. He saw at once that this was not to 
 be his objective point, and passed onward toward the 
 door of the salon. The room was empty, there was
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 71 
 
 an absence of sound. The whole place seemed de- 
 serted. 
 
 He approached a window and looked down upon 
 the garden beneath, and now he thought that he heard 
 the sound of far away voices. He was not a man to 
 seek for neglect, but surely, he thought, a little more 
 attention might have been paid to so utter a stranger 
 as himself. He wandered out of the salon again, and 
 on to the terrace, hot with the glare of the afternoon 
 sun. As he did so, Charles came out of the little 
 door near the gate. He was dressed in afternoon 
 costume of knee breeches, white stockings, plush 
 coat, etc. ; he carried a large, silver tray, on which 
 was an old-fashioned tea-service, and Eugene, simi- 
 larly metamorphosed, followed, with a second tray 
 piled high with bread, butter, plates, napkins, and 
 steaming covered dishes. 
 
 They crossed the terrace and descended from sight, 
 lost beneath an archway of greenery. Quentin fol- 
 lowed, and found that near the corner of the chateau 
 and opposite the entrance door and grille, was a 
 broad flight of stone steps. They were delightful old 
 steps — the balustrade of stone, the rail of stone, but 
 so overgrown with vines as to almost conceal the nat- 
 ure of their material. Quentin descended slowly. 
 This was a place of surprises. He would loiter and 
 take it all in as he went. When he reached the bot- 
 tom of the steps, he found himself upon a path so 
 overgrown and cool that it bore a resemblance to a 
 tunnel of closely growing vines. The flower garden 
 lay upon his right, the fields upon his left. In the 
 perspective, where the white legs of Charles had just 
 vanished, he saw some gray stone work, and an open- 
 ing between gray walls, and within, pale shades of
 
 72 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 filmy stuffs, of pink or blue or white, passing and re- 
 passing across the opening. There was the sound of 
 pleasant, well-bred laughter. A bit of verse came into 
 his mind which caused him to smile at his own gratu- 
 itous estimate of people whom he scarcely knew : 
 
 "And their voices low with fashion, not with feeling, softly 
 freighted 
 All the air about the windows with elastic laughter sweet." 
 
 Quentin took a few steps forward, emerged from 
 the tunnel of green, and found himself standing be- 
 tween four gray walls, whose ruined arches and pillars 
 upheld no roof- tree. The Abbey church was open to 
 the sky. Great oaks, which had grown for genera- 
 tions in the centre of this delicious spot, proved by 
 their presence how ancient the building must be, since 
 they could not have sprouted until years after the 
 place had been given over to decay, and the roof had 
 fallen in from disuse and neglect. 
 
 The contrast between the rugged old ruin and the 
 modern butterflies disporting themselves therein 
 struck Quentin with a sort of incongruous pictur- 
 esqueness. The picture overbalanced the incongruity 
 within his mind, and, as he came forward, his good 
 nature quite restored, through his delight in the scene, 
 he unconsciously murmured again: "Charming! 
 Charming ! " 
 
 Madame was seated at a large rustic table before 
 the tray which the plush-coated Charles had just de- 
 posited. Eugene had likewise set down his burden 
 and both men, with the dexterity which accompanies 
 long-accustomed service, were arranging the table to 
 suit Madame 's convenience and wishes. The guests 
 were seated here and there, either on low growing
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 73 
 
 branches, or about in nooks and corners upon great 
 blocks of the old ruin, which had fallen from their 
 places, perhaps generations ago, to thus be utilized, 
 some persons might say desecrated, in this mundane 
 end of the nineteenth century. 
 
 "Welcome! Welcome!" cried Madame gayly to 
 Quentin. " Come over here by me. I have hard:y 
 seen you. You have hidden yourself away so." 
 
 Quentin smiled broadly at these words, for he had 
 simply followed Madame 's orders. 
 
 " People certainly take their own way of amusing 
 themselves at the Abbey," said Miss Spencer. 
 "Where have you been all day, Mr. — Mr. " 
 
 "Quentin. Mr. Quentin," supplied Madame. "I 
 thought I introduced you this — Do you take sugar, 
 Baroness? I always forget " 
 
 "Fishing all the morning," laughed Quentin, cast- 
 ing sleepy eyes downward, " and sleeping all the after- 
 noon." 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed Miss Spencer, with a catch in 
 her breath. "Didn't you sleep well last night? " 
 
 "Perfectly well," Quentin replied, "but I have been 
 travelling more or less uncomfortably, and perhaps 
 the change to this pure air " 
 
 " And why should not Mr. Quentin sleep well, Ada 
 Spencer? " asked Madame, impatiently. 
 
 "He should, he should, dear Madame," replied 
 Miss Spencer, hastily; and then, changing the sub- 
 ject, " the Baroness and I have been sketching all the 
 morning. We could not leave to come home, the 
 light was so delicious, so we took some milk at a farm 
 house. We got home in time only to dress. See how 
 sunburned I am. The Baroness is a fright," she 
 added, with that disregard of the dependent friend,
 
 74 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 titled or untitled, which is a characteristic of modern 
 society. 
 
 "Yalery says you improve on Nature," remarked 
 Gartha, who was everywhere as usual. 
 
 " Yes, we sometimes improve on Nature, " answered 
 Miss Spencer, unsuspiciously. " Change the growth 
 of a limb, a branch or twig, to show what's beyond." 
 
 " Valery says that Nature is never out of drawing." 
 Gartha emphasized the noun. Miss Spencer red- 
 dened suddenly, and clicked her teeth together. 
 
 "To be caught by an odious child like that," she 
 murmured to the Baroness. Then again quickly 
 changed her topic. 
 
 "I purn ret," remarked the Baroness humbly. 
 "Not?" with a look around at the company gener- 
 ally. 
 
 "Yes, that's the trouble," remarked Miss Spencer. 
 
 "And you peel, Baroness," asked Gartha. 
 
 " But a little color makes you, if that were possible, 
 only the more attractive, Baroness," Valery hastened 
 to say, with a cross shake of the head at Gartha. 
 
 "And you won't peel until to-morrow," laughed 
 Miss Spencer. 
 
 " Do you never do anything but eat in this house? " 
 asked. Quentin of Madame. 
 
 "We do many things, as you have just heard," an- 
 swered Madame, looking brightly up at her friend. 
 " Some more cakes, Charles, and another pitcher of 
 cream. Some jam, Mary Thorndyke?" 
 
 "It's very fattening," said Gartha. 
 
 This parenthetical remark had its effect. Miss 
 Thorndyke withdrew a plump, outstretched hand, 
 and reddened unpleasantly. Her girth was increas- 
 ing daily in this land of plenty.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 75 
 
 a Lord Eldon said that Mamasha fattened them for 
 the marche — the market, I mean," said Gartha, look- 
 ing straight at Miss Thorndyke. 
 
 " I don't see why Madame lets that child come to 
 five o'clock and everything else with the grown ups," 
 murmured the victim sotto voce to the Baroness. 
 The Baroness gave her a fellow-feeling glance. 
 
 "Gartha," said Valery, "if you speak again, I will 
 send you to do some more lessons. Mademoiselle, I 
 thought you were teaching her manners." 
 
 Valery had difficulty in enunciating this sentence, 
 as Gartha had clasped him round his neck so tightly 
 that he was almost breathless. 
 
 "Eet ees imposb' to teach that chile any thin' so 
 spoil ees she," said the Baroness. 
 
 "He said " continued Gartha, unsilenced by 
 
 threats. 
 
 "Who said?" 
 
 " You ought to know, Mamasha. Lord Eldon. He 
 said " 
 
 Madame glanced at Quentin, reddened, and looked 
 down. 
 
 " That there was a new reading to ' This little pig 
 went to market. ' He used to play it with my fingers, 
 so." Gartha took her father's large brown hand be- 
 tween her own little ones. " He said it went this 
 way — 
 
 " ' This little pig went to market, 
 
 " ' And this little pig tagged along, 
 
 " ' And this little pig got pearls and emeralds, 
 
 " ' And this little pig got houses and estates, 
 "'And this little pig got all kicks and no half- 
 pence;'— Valery, dear, what are you doing? Give 
 me your other hand, —
 
 76 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " ' And this little pig got a mauvais sujet of a hus- 
 band, 
 
 " ' And this little pig was sent home to her 
 mother, 
 
 " ' But still all the little society pigs went to mar- 
 ket. ' What is a mauvais sujet of a husband, Papa- 
 chen? That is a word that has never been ex-ex- 
 plique. " 
 
 " You are too young to be talking about husbands, 
 child ! All the same, no one will ever give you kicks 
 and no ha'pence, because I shall see to it that all the 
 ha'pence will be yours; consequently there will be no 
 kicks." 
 
 " Valery, how can you talk to the child so? " 
 
 "I shouldn't like to be kicked," said Gartha, "but 
 you can't buy much for a half a penny. I should not 
 think that even a franc would buy much." 
 
 "Eet vele not puy a husban'. I know that much," 
 said the Baroness, with a swift look at her own faded 
 gown, and a reminiscent glance at her dissipated fort- 
 une. 
 
 " They come dear, husbands ! " said Valery, see- 
 ing in imagination the Baron sitting in front of Max- 
 im's, drinking his accustomed glass of absinthe, and 
 looking through his monocle after such of the femi- 
 nine passers-by as glanced alluringly at him. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, why do you allow Gartha to talk 
 so much? " asked Madame, as she put a lump of sugar 
 into Quentin's cup. 
 
 " I could do something with that chile if I had con- 
 trol excluseeve," Mademoiselle sniffed resentfully as 
 she glanced toward Alixe, who had at that moment 
 entered the farther opening into the ruins. The 
 priest followed her. She still wore her dress of the
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 77 
 
 morning, and upon her head was the white Russian 
 hat. Her hair was carelessly loose about her ears, 
 the silver combs holding it in place. If ever a human 
 being appeared to be utterly oblivious of concern in 
 her personal appearance, it was this tall young wom- 
 an whom they called Alixe. 
 
 " I wish that I could make Alixe think a little more 
 of her dress," whispered Madame in a loud aside. 
 " There are her closets full of " 
 
 Gartha arose and met Alixe half way and repeated 
 all the words that she had taken time to hear. 
 
 "I will remember what Mamasha say s, " said Alixe ; 
 "she is perfectly right." 
 
 At this snub from her beloved Alixe Gartha sub- 
 sided for a time. 
 
 " And clothes are so abnormally cheap and pretty 
 now-a-days," said Miss Spencer in an undertone to 
 the Baroness ; " if one knows where to go, Paris is 
 really a very economical place to shop in." 
 
 "I never haf find eet so," sighed the Baroness, 
 smoothing down an old black silk skirt which had 
 seen many a better day, and recalling a tailor bill 
 which had come to the Baron the previous week. 
 
 " I wonder what Alixe does with all her old clothes," 
 said Miss Thorndyke in an undertone to Miss Spen- 
 cer. 
 
 "She has never has any ' old clothes,'" returned 
 Miss Spencer, " because she never has any new ones. 
 A thing can't be old before it has existed at all. Now 
 Mamasha always wears good clothes. There is great 
 moral support in good clothes." 
 
 Miss Thorndyke surveyed the subject of these re- 
 marks critically. 
 
 "Old as they are," she said, "they have a style of
 
 78 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 their own, and she has a certain way of wearing them ; 
 I wish I had it. It's something that belongs to her. 
 But she has splendid things, Ada Spencer. I have 
 seen them ; Madame showed them to me. Closet after 
 closet full. Madame herself orders them, I believe." 
 
 "Alixe, do take off that ridiculous old hat," called 
 Madame. 
 
 Alixe laughed and showed her teeth. She took the 
 hat from her head. 
 
 " Mercy ! Put it on again, do ! " said Madame has- 
 tily, discovering suddenly the lovely disorder of the 
 light chestnut hair and its picturesque effect. 
 
 "She wears it," whispered Miss Spencer to Quen- 
 tin, " because some artist said that it looked like a 
 halo. He painted her face for la Sainte Vierge." 
 
 "He stole it," said Gartha, who was always hearing 
 what she should not, " and put it on that figure of 
 Marie Monrouge that stood for the Sainte Vierge. 
 Alixe said it was des, des — well, something. She 
 doesn't paint her face," continued Gartha, looking 
 steadily at Miss Spencer. "Valery says that you 
 decorate. What do you decorate, the hotels or les 
 apartements? " Gartha spoke, with the French pro- 
 nunciation. 
 
 Some natural color was added to the imitation, if 
 imitation there were, as Miss Spencer took up her 
 parasol and moved lauguidly away. " Shall I show 
 you the ruins, Mr. Quentin? " she asked. Quentin 
 looked at Madame. 
 
 "Go with her," said his hostess, with a resigned 
 sigh. "I must fill these yawning voids." 
 
 "You seem to keep a sort of sublimated pension," 
 commented Quentin, smiling at the labor Madame 
 made of what she delighted in.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 79 
 
 "Yes, isn't it? " As Madame poured out more tea, 
 she sighed as if life were not worth living. 
 
 " When they have all eaten and drank their fill, I 
 will take you to see the men above the farmyard gate." 
 
 " Oh, ze dear tzin mans ! ze dear fat mans ! I know 
 not vich I lofe ze better of zoze mans ! " exclaimed the 
 Baroness, enthusiastically
 
 VII 
 
 Quentin passed along the gravelled interior of the 
 Abbey church, keeping pace with Miss Spencer's high 
 heeled walk and the rustle of her silk-lined muslin. 
 He heard, while he did not listen to the words, 
 " Twelfth century. The earliest records are of eleven 
 hundred and fifty. The Abbey, instead of being, as 
 at present, so practically remote from the Convent 
 proper, was in those days connected with it by other 
 buildings, at least so the Archbishop told us only last 
 evening after you left the salon. There is a book 
 about it. He played billiards with me for an hour or 
 more. The dear Archbishop ! He is so charming, 
 so human, so secular, so tolerant of the frailties of 
 humanity. I love a secular prelate, don't you, Mr. 
 Quentin? This place itself was secular enough at one 
 time. I suppose you have heard, when the fourteenth 
 or fifteenth Abbess took the crosse abbatiale." 
 
 "Did she wear her croix abbatiale as Alixe — 
 as " Quentin stopped short in what he was say- 
 ing. He stammered confusedly. " I should ask her 
 pardon," said he. "But I have never known any 
 other name by which to call her. It came out before 
 I thought. I " 
 
 "One would think you had been here a year," 
 laughed Miss Spencer. " Never known her by any 
 other name ! " she quoted back at him.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 81 
 
 " Madame has never told me. In fact, she never 
 mentioned her. I know that her name is Alixe, and 
 that Gartha is her niece ; more than this " 
 
 " Odious child ! " interrupted Miss Spencer, with a 
 backward glance at Gartha. 
 
 " I know that Valery is her brother-in-law, and Ma- 
 dame her aunt." 
 
 "Has she told you that? " laughed Miss Spencer, 
 evidently much amused at something in her own 
 thoughts. " As you see, she gives succor and com- 
 fort to a holy priest, who is no better than he should 
 be. His Grace warned her about him. I wonder if 
 he knows how madly in love Halle is with her " 
 
 " A priest in love ! I am not of his church, but I 
 must confess that such a suggestion seems too sacri- 
 legious; too " 
 
 " He is but a man, after all, " said Miss Spencer. 
 
 " Yes, but not as other men are. At least he should 
 not be ; he " 
 
 " But if she leads him on. She is awfully rich ; 
 she can do as she likes. Everything is forgiven a 
 rich woman. I have lived long enough to know that 
 riches mean exemption from criticism. What im- 
 mense independence there is in wealth, abnormal 
 wealth. Every one runs after you, even the church 
 condones your misdemeanors." 
 
 " I should not think the word misdemeanor applic- 
 able here," said Quentin. 
 
 " Look there ! " returned his companion. Quentin 
 raised his eyes again toward the two figures stand- 
 ing just within the doorway whither they had with- 
 drawn. The words they said were not distinguish- 
 able. Had they been, Quentin would have heard the 
 priest say: 
 6
 
 82 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Can I trust you? " He saw, however, the anxious 
 look in the deep, hollow eyes. 
 
 "Certainly," replied his companion. "Have you 
 not always? " Quentin saw that Halle bent down- 
 ward. He took within his hand the large crucifix of 
 silver which depended from the string of beads encir- 
 cling her slim waist. The cross was studded with 
 amethysts and shone a glorious mass of color in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 "Kiss the cross," said he. 
 
 "Oh, Kobert!" said she. "Not here! Not now! 
 Is not my word enough? " 
 
 Halle's eyes shone with a wild light of disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 " Very well, then," said Alixe gravely. She moved 
 a little outside of the ruin, thus screening herself 
 from view. She took the cross in her hands, and, 
 looking upward, pressed the shining metal to her 
 lips. Halle smiled with satisfaction. 
 
 Alixe answered the smile with the words, " Not as a 
 daughter of the church, Robert, but in memory of 
 Virginia Danielli." Halle shuddered and ceased to 
 smile. " That is no oath. It is not binding, " he said. 
 
 " I need take no oath to be true to a friend. Have 
 I ever broken a promise? Virginia, good Catholic 
 that she is, when she left me did not ask me to take 
 an oath that I would be faithful to her. Why should 
 you?" 
 
 They moved again within the walls. 
 
 " Those churchly flirtations are charming to watch," 
 remarked Miss Spencer to Quentin. "A sort of 
 Abelard and Heloise affair. There is no danger on 
 either side, and one may go almost to the verge of 
 prudence and not "
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 83 
 
 "I hate to hear you talk like that," said Quentin. 
 Miss Spencer looked up with interest. 
 
 "You amaze me!" she said. "Is it because you 
 dislike to feel that the innocent dew of youthful charm 
 is being brushed from the virginal soil, or because 
 you don't wish to acknowledge that a pure soul has 
 been already smirched?" 
 
 " I hate to hear a woman talk as you do about an- 
 other woman," said Quentin, with impatience. 
 
 " But if it is true ! You can see for yourself. Did 
 you see her kiss that cross just now? No? I can 
 see them better from here. Alixe has no reason to 
 kiss that cross. She is the most determined little 
 Protestant you can find in France. She only did it 
 for effect. Mamasha and the Archbishop are ham- 
 mering away at her all the time. She is a stone that 
 no continual dropping will ever wear away." 
 
 Miss Spencer subsided upon a mos3 covered rock 
 which had fallen from the roof-tree in some dead cen- 
 tury. She drew aside her pink silk and muslin. 
 
 Quentin could not resist complying with this invit- 
 ing gesture. He felt that he was about to learn some- 
 thing of the Abbey, and he was not willing to lose 
 the opportunity. Miss Spencer talked and talked, 
 and as she talked she drew little curves and diamonds 
 in the gravel with her parasol at the tip of her pointed 
 shoe. 
 
 " Alixe is one of the richest women in France, I be- 
 lieve, or she was when Bruno married her " 
 
 " Married her? Then she is married? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed ! First, there is this Abbey " 
 
 "Then this is not the home of Madame Pe- 
 trofsky " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Alixe gives her a home here ! Mamasha
 
 84 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 will sponge on anybody. Then there is that splendid 
 place in the Pyrenees, but seems to me I have heard 
 that she had to sell that to pay Bruno's debts. Then 
 there is the villa on the Biviera, Cannes or Mentone, 
 or somewhere, I don't know. I've never been there. 
 Then she had a charming hotel in the Champs Elysees, 
 where Bruno used to give his orgies, and a seaside 
 place somewhere or other, and money in all the banks 
 in the world. She is a very wealthy woman, our 
 Duchess ! " 
 
 " Those things are always exaggerated," said Quen- 
 tin, with a strange sinking of the heart. " And where, 
 then, is the Duke? " 
 
 "The Duke? Mercy on me! Hasn't Mamasha 
 enlightened you? I don't wonder. It was all her 
 doing. Mamasha hawked those girls about to half 
 the capitals of Europe. Alixe was only seventeen. 
 The old Duke fell dead just as he had signed his 
 name in the marriage register. Just think how lucky 
 'for Alixe ! and how near a thing it was ! He had 
 made his will in her favour and all. Mamasha fol- 
 lows the English custom," continued Miss Spencer. 
 "Perhaps, after all, it's proper, as all she has came 
 from the Duke. You know in my country once a 
 duchess, always a duchess, unless, indeed, there is a 
 higher title which one may claim; that's a custom 
 which " 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Quentin. "I have just been 
 
 staying with the " and he mentioned the well 
 
 known name of a titled lady who had been for a 
 fortnight past his hostess; her husband, plain Mr. 
 Blank. 
 
 "Do you stay there?'* exclaimed Miss Spencer, 
 breathless at the honor heaped upon this great un-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 85 
 
 known whom she had simply thought one of Ma- 
 dame's doubtful discoveries. " Why, how did you 
 get to know them ? You Americans seem to go every- 
 where now-a-days. You " 
 
 "Then she is a widow, that young creature/' re- 
 sumed Quentin, raising his eyes with renewed interest 
 and ignoring Miss Spencer's personalities. 
 
 " She was, till Mamasha married her to Bruno, but 
 it's all hers — Alixe, I mean. That spiteful old cat is 
 only here on sufferance. How Alixe allows her to 
 usurp all her prerogatives I can't see. How 1 should 
 lord it over her ! " 
 
 Quentin was so deeply interested in this new his- 
 tory that he forgot to be resentful at the strictures 
 upon his friend Madame. 
 
 " I believe there was a castle in Italy, too. He was 
 an Italian, the Duke. Bruno is a Spaniard. He was 
 a dreadful old man, the Duke, a thousand years old, 
 more or less, and with a hundred pasts. Mamasha 
 knew how to manage." Miss Spencer glanced at her 
 listener in an insinuating manner. 
 
 " Do you mean to imply that Madame gave the 
 Duke as he went to the altar a surreptitious dose of 
 poison warranted to kill just after the blessing ? " 
 laughed Quentin. 
 
 " Oh, no ! No one ever accused Mamasha of that. " 
 There was an emphasis on the final word as if un- 
 known depths of infamy might be revealed did Miss 
 Spencer think it worth her while. " She intended to 
 put up with her son-in-law until he was gathered to 
 his long line of titled and disreputable fathers ; in 
 fact, she was ready to gather him to her own youthful 
 bosom. I don't know but Mamasha would have been 
 the Duchess to-day, if, when he came to see her, he
 
 86 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 had not seen Alixe by accident. They were living in 
 Paris then in a little hugger-mugger apartment — in a 
 fashionable quarter enough, though ; Mamasha would 
 have gilt chairs if she ate meat only on Sundays. 
 Alixe, as I told you, was barely seventeen. She is 
 just twenty this month. She had no more idea what 
 marriage meant than I have this minute. ; ' Miss Spen- 
 cer looked down with a mature smile of embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "This is a strange revelation to me," said Quentin 
 slowly. "But then " 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Mr. Quentin, that you came 
 to visit Alixe knowing no more about " 
 
 "lam Madame Petrofsky's guest," said Quentin, 
 " and that should have prevented my listening to " 
 
 "But it is no secret. I am saying no harm," ex- 
 claimed Miss Spencer hurriedly, wishing to disclaim 
 to this good-looking stranger any wish to gossip about 
 her hosts. " Mamasha probably thinks you know all 
 about it. Her old friends were frightfully angry at 
 Mamasha for marrying Alixe to Bruno. He was her 
 cousin, you know. Alixe had lent him loads of 
 money. He got into several scrapes and lawsuits of 
 one kind or another, and Alixe paid his debts. They 
 were enormous debts. Colossal ! He wheedles Alixe 
 now out of her money, outrageously ! He used to be 
 Mamasha's favorite nephew, but I imagine that since 
 she has succeeded in marrying him to Alixe, and he 
 has really more right to her property than formerly, 
 she is sorry every day of her life. Alixe doesn't care 
 a fig for money, and Bruno is always experimenting. 
 He says they fascinate him — his experiments " 
 
 "But I cannot understand when his wife has so 
 much why he needs — — "
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 87 
 
 " Yes, that's what every one says ! I asked Mamasha 
 that same question the other day, and she said that 
 poor Bruno had never done anything but spend money, 
 first his own fortune, then all that he could borrow 
 from Alixe. That he felt that Alixe despised him, 
 and that now he meant to set himself right in her 
 eyes. If there is one creature whom Bruno adores 
 on the face of this earth, it is Alixe ; that is, next to 
 himself. He wants to show her, Mamasha says, that 
 he can add something to the general fund. She smiles 
 and lets him have his way, but even a fortune like the 
 Duca di Brazzia's will not stand such a strain as that; 
 besides, how absurd to spend a hundred thousand 
 francs to make twenty thousand; but Bruno thinks 
 that it rehabilitates him in Alixe's eyes. " Miss Spen- 
 cer's breath had failed. 
 
 "A strange way to increase one's fortune," said 
 Quentin; " sending good money after bad." 
 
 " Well, Mamasha argues alternately on Bruno's 
 side, and then on her own ; never on the side of Alixe ; 
 that you will see as time goes on. She says that these 
 investments of Bruno's will be permanent, and that 
 the inventions will bring him in, for every fifty thou- 
 sand that he now spends, certainly a hundred and 
 fifty. He tells her that, of course, and she believes 
 it, or pretends to. How does any one know that he 
 isn't just spending the principal? " 
 
 "This is all very interesting," remarked Quentin. 
 " I don't know that I ought " 
 
 " Don't have scruples," said Miss Spencer. " I hate 
 a man with scruples. Mamasha will tell you. She 
 always confides in the last new man. She only hasn't 
 had time yet." 
 
 "The last new man," repeated Quentin to himself
 
 88 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 with anything but a satisfied feeling. Was that what 
 he was? The last new man? He was getting new 
 side-lights on Madame 's character, but he told him- 
 self as these thoughts passed through his mind that 
 he must consider their source, and, though Miss Spen- 
 cer might intend to be truthful, there was, he felt cer- 
 tain, a modicum of spite mixed with her frankness of 
 speech. 
 
 Quentin arose. Miss Spencer, having captured the 
 most distinguished looking man who had been seen at 
 the Abbey for many a day, arose also, but slowly. 
 She would have to relinquish him soon enough. Let 
 her hold him while she might. 
 
 " Although Alixe is a Protestant, she is educated to 
 death, and, strange to say, was educated in a convent. 
 I believe that she used to help Bruno with his chem- 
 icals, but he doesn't allow her to any more. He says 
 he has got beyond her — that " 
 
 "Help Bruno? You mean " 
 
 "Yes, St. Aubin, with his experiments. Thank 
 heaven, he is away at present. Every one flees when 
 they hear the wheels of his chariot approaching. If 
 he were here, I should be sorry for you, as I be- 
 lieve you sleep in the chalet. That is where all 
 the " 
 
 " Ada ! Ada Spencer ! Come here ! " 
 
 "Isn't it dangerous for her to — help him with " 
 
 " Come, Ada ! Come ! Don't you hear? We want 
 to see the statues before the sun goes down." 
 
 " Mamasha has claimed you for her own," said Miss 
 Spencer, walking slowly before Quentin in the direc- 
 tion of Madame. "Dangerous? To be sure, it is 
 very dangerous. They had one explosion " 
 
 "What a wonderful thing that is," said Quentin,
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 89 
 
 musingly, apparently forgetful of her company, " that 
 cross of amethysts? " 
 
 "La Crosse Abbatiale," said Miss Spencer, with 
 that extreme French accent which no Frenchman born 
 could understand. "The one Alixe carries? She is 
 the Abbess of Bref, you know." 
 
 They were approaching Madame, who strained her 
 ears to catch Miss Spencer's lightest word, as an in- 
 dication what the trend of the conversation had been. 
 "Alixe has no crosier, Ada," called Madame. "La 
 Croix Abbatiale if you will — "Virginia Danielli's 
 splendid gift; but what a fuss you make over 
 Alixe's " 
 
 Gartha interrupted, running to Quentin, taking his 
 hand in hers and jumping up and down. 
 
 "Come, Mr. Quentin. Don't you hear Mamasha 
 calling you ? She is very much genee with you. She 
 says Ada Spencer never knows when to let a man " 
 
 " Mr. Quentin has been at liberty for at least twenty 
 minutes," said Miss Spencer, coloring hotly as he ap- 
 proached Madame. "Mamasha," she said aloud, 
 "you should either refrain from comment upon 
 your guests, or you should send Gartha to the 
 nursery." 
 
 " Oh, come, come, Ada ! " said Madame in a coax- 
 ing tone to the plain-spoken young woman. " Gartha 
 makes all the trouble in this house. I have scarcely 
 seen Mr. Quentin, and he is my guest, you know." 
 
 At Madame's summons they followed the varie- 
 gated stream of humanity out under the ragged arch- 
 way and up through the tunnel of green. Quentin, 
 with no volition on his part, found Madame leaning 
 upon him, her hand pushed through the bend of his 
 arm, while Miss Spencer walked on before with Made-
 
 90 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 moiselle. Gartlia had not relinquished Quentin's 
 hand. 
 
 "Et votre pere, oiiest-il, Garta?" inquired Made- 
 moiselle. 
 
 "She has her eye on Valery," whispered Madame 
 to Quentin. " I suppose we must get rid of her soon, 
 as we have had to of the others." 
 
 "He not, is not going to come," said Gartha, in 
 purposely garbled English. 
 
 "Garta! Garta!" screamed Mademoiselle in 
 English. " How often have I told you that you must 
 not translate literally from the French into the Eng- 
 lish. That double negative is only used " 
 
 "I must," said Gartha, decidedly, still speaking 
 English. " I must translate to the foot of the letter." 
 
 " Did you ever see so tirzome a chilt? " asked Made- 
 moiselle, turning back toward Quentin. 
 
 "She says that we spoil her," commented Madame 
 in an undertone, " and so we do, I suppose, but she 
 herself encourages it. I believe that she really loves 
 that child, badly as Gartha treats her, and she is well 
 aware that the Abbey is not a bad resting place for 
 the summer." 
 
 " Nor for a lifetime, " said Quentin, looking down 
 upon her, and throwing a fervour into his tone, why 
 he knew not, which brought to Madame 's cheek a 
 deeper flush. 
 
 The procession had now reached the lower of the 
 stone steps. Quentin saw rising ahead of him a 
 stream of pretty pale colors. He heard the hum of 
 sweet voices. The place was alive with everyday- 
 ness and matter-of-fact-ness, with a little of the world 
 and its fashion thrown in. As they issued from the 
 ruin, they had left behind them the mystery of the
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 91 
 
 place. Quentin was absorbed and fascinated with the 
 variety of it all. 
 
 They crossed the terrace, this mass of bright plum- 
 age. Eugene unlocked the grille, and then threw open 
 the door in the wall. Gartha was again jumping up 
 and down and pulling atQuentin's hand like a young 
 colt at the halter. Mademoiselle and Miss Spencer 
 had dropped behind, and now Mademoiselle came 
 running after them, breathlessly exclaiming in volu- 
 ble French : 
 
 " Garta ! Garta ! You cannot go ! You will spoil 
 your shoes ! " 
 
 " Come ! Come ! " said Gartha, urging Quentin. 
 " Let us run ! " 
 
 [i You cannot go, Garta ! " repeated Mademoiselle 
 in a very decided tone. 
 
 " The French is a language which I do not compre- 
 hend — me ! " said Gartha. 
 
 "It is her mother tongue," said Madame, turning 
 laughingly to Quentin. "She is not at all at home in 
 English." 
 
 "Just this once, Mademoiselle." It was the voice 
 of Alixe. She came forward from somewhere behind 
 them all. 
 
 "She will spoil her shoes," urged Mademoiselle. 
 
 " As if I had not more of the shoes ! Nom de Dieu ! " 
 
 " Come ! Come ! " to Quentin, with renewed pull- 
 ing of the hand. Alixe had now come up to them 
 and was standing just without the gate with the young 
 priest. 
 
 " I think that you have not met Father Halle, Mr. 
 Quentin," said she. "This is our very old friend, 
 Father Halle, and he is also a trusted friend of my 
 husband."
 
 92 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 The men bowed, but neither offered his hand. The 
 introduction seemed longer than necessary and stilted, 
 Quentin thought, but he felt that he dimly understood 
 the cause. 
 
 They had all emerged from the gate, Gartha still 
 pulling Quentin onward, which caused him to hasten 
 his footsteps, Madame keeping up her quick little 
 Louis Quinze patter beside him. 
 
 "Gartha," said Alixe, "walk quietly. If you do 
 not, I shall send you back. 
 
 "Yes, Alixe," replied the child submissively, and 
 at once suited her pace to that of Madame. 
 
 "You see that Alixe can do anything with her," 
 said Madame to Quentin. 
 
 The procession skirted the wall of the domain, as 
 far as it environed the chateau. 
 
 " This was the old wall of the convent," began Miss 
 Spencer, who had taken up her position again in front 
 of Quentin. She turned toward him as she spoke. 
 
 " I am quite capable of explaining the chateau to 
 Mr. Quentin, Ada," said Madame. 
 
 " She does take possession of a man ! " confided 
 Miss Spencer to Mademoiselle. 
 
 " You can see how carefully the old windows are 
 guarded," said Madame, looking up at her guest. 
 "Nothing but slits and loopholes most of them, with 
 iron bars across even these. Just think how it has 
 lasted, more than six hundred years, and looks as if 
 it would last six hundred more." 
 
 "We don't build in that way now-a-days," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 The advance guard had now halted, and as Madame 
 and Quentin approached them the Baroness was apos- 
 trophising some one or something.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 93 
 
 " Oh ! You dear, fat mans ! Oh ! You dear, tzin 
 mans ! I know not vich I lofe ze best of zoze mans." 
 
 Quentin raised his eyes and caught sight of two 
 carved figures of stone high above his head in a niche 
 in the wall. 
 
 " If any testimony were needed as to the age of 
 these buildings, there it is," said Father Halle. 
 
 The thin man showed his bones in the most ap- 
 proved anatomical manner. His look was sad and 
 wretched; his lean and wasted jaws bagging down- 
 ward; his skeleton hand was outheld for alms. The 
 fat man by his side was round and jolly. His cheeks 
 appeared to be bursting with laughter and good nat- 
 ure. His paunch seemed rotund with the weight of 
 many a grand dinner. The stone was so ancient that 
 time had worn many a hole and dent in its surface, 
 but still the thin man looked gloomily downward, and 
 still the fat man seemed to crack his cheeks with 
 ludicrous jollity. 
 
 Quentin saw not much to admire in the two figures 
 beside their age and the endurance with which they 
 had weathered the storm and sunshine for over six 
 hundred years. He "Oh'd" and "Ah'd" politely, 
 however, and then turned away to follow the gor- 
 geous bevy who were retracing their way toward the 
 entrance gate. The voluble Baroness departed, throw- 
 ing kisses over her shoulder to her dear fat mans, 
 and her dear tzin mans, and declaring animatedly 
 that she knew not which she lofed ze best of zoze 
 dear mans.
 
 vni. 
 
 As the assemblage neared the door in the wall, dust 
 seemed to fill the air. It flew thick, and Madame 
 sneezed with several wild little screeches, which she 
 endeavored in vain to smother. Alixe hurried past 
 them, coughing as she ran. 
 
 " How strange ! " said Madame when she could 
 speak. "No carriage has passed by. Nor am I ex- 
 pecting any one." 
 
 "There goes a wagon," said Quentin; "back along 
 the road." 
 
 " Some one must have arrived then ! " Madame re- 
 leased Quentin's arm and accelerated her speed. 
 
 On entering the doorway it was evident indeed that 
 some one had arrived. The terrace was piled high 
 with luggage. Orders more or less authoritative were 
 being given in a man's voice. The low tones of Alixe, 
 which possessed such carrying power, and, when she 
 chose to dictate, which no one refused to obey, were 
 heard above the first voice, and Quentin saw that 
 along toward the chalet some of the men-servants 
 were struggling with a box which seemed too heavy 
 for them. Mentally he compared this smaller box, 
 of such apparent weight, with his own easily-lifted 
 good-sized one. 
 
 "Ah, monDieu! It is Bruno," shrilled Madame. 
 
 "It is my friend, Bruno," said Father Halle, with
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 95 
 
 a sound in his voice which was a mixture of pleasure 
 and fear. 
 
 " It is Bruno ! " piped the merry note of the Kas- 
 taquouere. "Don't blow us up, Bruno, I beg of 
 you." 
 
 " It is the husband of Alixe, " whispered Miss Spen- 
 cer in Quentin's ear. "I, for one, have business in 
 town." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! It is my Uncle Bruno, " said Gartha. 
 "That godenot, my Uncle Bruno." 
 
 "It is the Count St. Aubin," said Mademoiselle in 
 a low tone. " Now you will see how quickly we shall 
 lose our guests." 
 
 "It is the Monsieur le Comte," mumbled Charles. 
 " Now there will be no more peace ! " 
 
 Upon the terrace there was an air of excitement 
 which centered about a crooked, thin, undersized man, 
 whose skin was yellow, and whose eyes were small 
 and black. 
 
 " Faites attention ! " he called in a penetrating 
 head voice. " If you let that box fall, my life's work 
 is ended." 
 
 "We will not drop it, Monsieur 'le Comte," called 
 Antoine and Pierre Monrouge in many jerky breaths 
 as they staggered and shuffled and stumbled and per- 
 spired. They carried their burden as if, should they 
 allow it to slip from their grasp, their life's work 
 would also be ended. 
 
 "I thought you were at Hamburg," said Alixe. 
 
 "So I was. 'Fools! Dolts! Idiots! That I must 
 see after such a set of ignoramuses, who will spoil 
 the work of a lifetime. Careful there, Pierre Mon- 
 rouge, if you know what is good for you. You will 
 ruin me between you."
 
 96 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " They are doing their best, Bruno ; the box seems 
 heavy. And are you just from England? " 
 
 "Yes," answered St. Aubin, shortly. 
 
 " Ce cher Bruno ! " said the Baroness to Miss Spen- 
 cer, " with he's so pretty manners. Now you will see 
 ze leafings like ze leafings of ze autumn." 
 
 "Now the men will give warning," whispered Ma- 
 dame to Alixe. " Why must he return so abruptly 
 and harry the servants so that they " , 
 
 "Nonsense, Mamasha! " said Alixe, good naturedly. 
 "What are they afraid of? " 
 
 " You know what Charles said the last time, when 
 his hand was injured. He is such an excellent serv- 
 ant, too! Where could we find another who would 
 do all that Charles does in this household? " 
 
 " That is very true, Mamasha," replied Alixe ; " but 
 think what it means to Bruno." 
 
 " Why should he keep on with his expensive re- 
 searches? I never dreamed of this when — if I had 
 imagined — I shall never forgive you, Alixe, for giv- 
 ing him so much control of your fortune. It is ridicu- 
 lous. You might much better have given it to me. 
 You know it cannot last forever. After the place at 
 Pau was sold, and the house at Trouville — you are a 
 rich woman no longer " 
 
 " Oh, Mamasha, what difference does it make? We 
 have still enough, and Bruno's pride will be satisfied 
 with the fortune which he thinks he can make and 
 thus become independent of me. I cannot blame him. 
 Why cannot we let people be happy in their own way ? 
 It is such a dreadful thing to be dependent " 
 
 "No one knows that better than I, Alixe." This 
 Madame said in a tone which was full of bitter- 
 ness.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 97 
 
 Alixe turned. " Oh ! Oh ! Have I made you feel 
 it? How, mother? How? " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Madame in warning, looking nerv- 
 ously to where Quentin stood not far away. 
 
 "How have I made you feel it? " pressed Alixe in 
 a lower tone. " I am sure it is right that you should 
 
 have it all. It was your idea — no " seeing the 
 
 expression of Madame's face, "I am not bitter, 
 mother. I only think sometimes of what my life 
 might have been. I was so young and " 
 
 " He should not be coming here in this way ! " ex- 
 claimed Madame, reverting to her grievance. " Now, 
 every one will leave." 
 
 "I have no control over Bruno, that you know, 
 Moth — Mamasha. He has always been your favorite ; 
 you should speak to him, he will " 
 
 " I speak to him ! I have lost my power over him, 
 Alixe, since he married you. Certainly I did not 
 foresee. Now, every one will be going " 
 
 " I for one shall not be sorry," said Alixe, half smil- 
 ing. 
 
 " Fond as I am of Bruno, he should not be allowed 
 to burst in upon us in this unexpected way." 
 
 "We cannot tell him not to come. He has the 
 right. It was not my fault, mother." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Madame again. " Do not reproach 
 me, Alixe; it is more than I can bear." 
 
 "I shall not reproach you," said Alixe, "It was a 
 dreadful mistake. I was too young to see — to 
 know " 
 
 " Alixe ! Alixe ! " sounded along the terrace in the 
 Count's voice. "I want you." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Bruno, " answered Alixe, walking swiftly 
 toward the chalet. The priest followed her with quick 
 7
 
 98 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 steps. Madame turned to the Baroness. "I do not 
 think Father Halle good for Bruno," she said. She 
 spoke of the priest as if he were a bit of unripe fruit 
 or an over-rich pastry. 
 
 Alixe reached the chalet steps and was about to en- 
 ter the archway, but was stopped by a cry from over- 
 head. 
 
 " Don't come up, Alixe." She came out from under 
 the overhanging vines, disappointment in her face. 
 "No, you mustn't come up," called St. Aubin from 
 over the narrow little balcony, " the things are too 
 dangerous. If I blow myself up, it will not matter 
 so much." 
 
 " Oh, Bruno ! " said Alixe, kindly. " It would mat- 
 ter very much. I should like to come up. You must 
 have some new chemicals which I have not seen. I 
 should like to know how you manage them. I found 
 it all so interesting." 
 
 "No, no!" said the Count, decidedly. "I called 
 you only to tell you that I have already made some- 
 thing by my last invention." 
 
 " Oh, Bruno ! " exclaimed Alixe gayly. " How 
 happy you must feel ! " 
 
 " I heard the news only this morning. Yes, I am 
 glad, because I want you to see that I am good for 
 something besides wasting your money." 
 
 " What was it, Bruno? An automobile? " 
 
 "N-n-no, not exactly that." 
 
 "Have they bought your patent, Bruno?" asked 
 Alixe, shading her eyes and looking up at him from 
 under the brim of her old Russian hat. 
 
 " No, I cannot tell you about it now. But I am 
 much encouraged ; I have made fifty thousand francs 
 already. Just think of that, Alixe ! Fifty thousand
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 99 
 
 francs ! You see, I am more like other men than you 
 think." 
 
 "I have always thought you very clever, Bruno," 
 said Alixe. " Two thousand pounds ! Only think of 
 that ! I am glad for your sake, though, when I have 
 more than enough, it seems so useless " 
 
 "Don't say ' have,' Alixe," said St. Aubin leaning 
 over and looking down upon her. " You must say 
 'had' after this." 
 
 He spoke in a low tone, so that those a little fur- 
 ther away could not hear : " You know that I have 
 sunk fortunes in the perfecting of my plans. I do 
 not believe that any one else ever thought of just this 
 way to apply the hidden power that I have discovered. 
 I am now turning my attention to the automobile. 
 Don't you remember how I tried everything that 
 science could achieve? That is, so far as I knew 
 anything about it. Alchem3 r was one thing, do you 
 remember? We thought we had a gold mine up here 
 in the chalet." 
 
 "Yes, Bruno," laughed Alixe; "that was before we 
 were married." 
 
 "Were we ever married?" said St. Aubin, with a 
 return of the bitter tone which had sounded through 
 his first words. He turned quickly : " Who is that? 
 Don't come in so like a cat? " Something was said in 
 a low tone, by the person within the room, which 
 Alixe did not hear. 
 
 "Good-by, Bruno," said Alixe, looking kindly up- 
 ward. " I will see you at dinner." 
 
 Halle came from the back of the room to the long 
 windows, and looked out through the vine-clad open- 
 ing. He was very much taller than St. Aubin, and 
 his pale face made the Count's appear even more sal-
 
 100 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 low than usual. " How can you have her here ! " 
 he exclaimed, angrily. "If you must make ex- 
 perim " 
 
 " Ta, ta ! " replied the Count, impatiently. " Don't 
 interfere, Bob. Yery well, run along then, Alixe. 
 Halle is afraid we shall blow ourselves up and you 
 into the bargain." 
 
 "Till dinner, then," said Alixe. 
 
 Alixe walked slowly away toward the chateau. She 
 met Quentin, who was just turning in at the archway 
 of the chalet stairs. 
 
 Alixe stopped a moment. 
 
 "Mr. Quentin," she said, "I think that when our 
 other guests are gone, we had better give you a dif- 
 ferent room — one over in the chateau " 
 
 "I like my room," said Quentin. "I don't see 
 why " 
 
 "I should rather," said Alixe. "Count St. Aubin 
 is very fond of making experiments, and I am always 
 fearing some accident." 
 
 "And what about the Count himself?" asked 
 Quentin. 
 
 "That goes without saying," answered Alixe 
 coldly. "But I have given up expostulating with 
 him long ago. He used to have very simple chemi- 
 cals, and I used to delight in helping him, but he 
 has grown learned of late, and he says that he has 
 left me behind. I have discovered that there are 
 some things which a woman cannot compass, Mr 
 Quentin. " 
 
 There was the sound of flying feet from the direc- 
 tion of the chateau. 
 
 " Alixe ! Alixe ! " called Gartha, when yet some dis- 
 tance along the terrace. "Mamasha wishes you to
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 101 
 
 know that the dinner will be in the chateau to-night, 
 in honor of the Lord Elcfon. " 
 
 " Lord Eldon ! " exclaimed Alixe. 
 
 " Yes, the Lord Eldon, and Uncle Bruno, and Mon- 
 sieur le Maurier. They have both sent the messages, 
 and Mamasha says that this time she hopes you 
 dress yourself de rigueur." 
 
 "I will remember, Gartha," said Alixe, smiling her 
 answer. She bowed to Quentin and proceeded along 
 the terrace. 
 
 "Mr. le Maurier is coming," screamed Miss Spen- 
 cer to Quentin as she met him on the terrace. " He's 
 the man that edits a blue book, or a purple book, or 
 something esthetic, or supposed to be. He gets it 
 up in the most anaesthetic manner. I always go to 
 sleep when it comes in the house." 
 
 " Uncle Bruno ! Uncle Bruno ! " called Gartha im- 
 patiently from under the chalet balcony. 
 
 "What is it, Gartha? " The low head was pushed 
 out just over the balcony rail. 
 
 " Mamasha wants you to know that you are to be 
 en frac, de rigueur, this evening, of the best manner 
 possible. The Lord Eldon is coming; he has tele- 
 graphed, and Monsieur le Maurier." 
 
 "I don't see why I should dress for Lord Eldon at 
 Madame's orders," said Bruno impatiently. "I am 
 quite tired out, and as for that little editor — however, 
 tell Mamasha I will obey, and tell Alixe, Gartha, 
 Gartha! do you hear me? Tell Alixe that I wish her 
 to make herself handsome." 
 
 "She does not have to make herself handsome, 
 Uncle Bruno. Mamasha said that I am to tell you 
 to try not to have an esplosion before dinner, because 
 they will leave to-night, and we have not enough of
 
 102 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 fiacres to get theni to their trains. Mori Dieu, non ! 
 Miss Spencer, and Miss Thorndyke, and Lady Barnes 
 are all especting petits bleus that they are wanted in 
 Paris at once. The Baroness will not have none, be- 
 cause she has no hotel of her own, and Mademoiselle 
 will have to stay until Mamasha shall pay her bill 
 for me." 
 
 "At her same old tricks." St. Aubin laughed un- 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " But," continued Gartha, " she has asked Mamasha 
 to change ses appartements, move her to the other 
 side of the chateau. They are all packing their 
 chiffons and lots of them are going in the first train 
 which comes in the morning." 
 
 " No matter how dark a day it is, there is always 
 something to be thankful for," said the Count laugh- 
 ing again." 
 
 " And they are begging of Mamasha, all but beg- 
 ging of her, to have all their dinners — les repas, 
 you know — in the chateau, until they do leave. They 
 all pretend it is the business, or the sickness, or 
 some engagement, but we know the reason, do we 
 not, Uncle Bruno? Te souviens-tu, mon cher oncle, 
 when 'you have burned my cat and have frappe a 
 hole in the chalet wall? " 
 
 "That is another thing to thank Providence for, 
 Gartha, burning the cat ! " returned St. Aubin piously. 
 " Always remember that ! So the dear old maids are 
 going! So much the better. Who is in the other 
 wing, Gartha?" 
 
 "An American monsieur, a Mr. Quentin. Made- 
 moiselle says he is tres gentil. Ada Spencer, she 
 says, has set her cap with him already. What is it 
 to set a cap, Uncle Bruno? "
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 103 
 
 "One of Marnasha's latest?" asked St. Aubin, not 
 answering the child's question. 
 
 "The very latest," said Gartha. "Mamasha goes 
 to adore that Mr. Quentin. One can see that with 
 a blow of the eye. She regards him, that Mr. Quen- 
 tin, with a rnaniere adorable. I think she would have 
 place him in the other wing if she had known you 
 were coming, Uncle Bruno." 
 
 At this doubtful compliment, St. Aubin gave vent 
 to the exclamation, " Damned uncomfortable ! " He 
 turned to the priest. " What shall we do now, you 
 lantern-jawed son of holy church? " 
 
 " My advice would be to do nothing. To give it 
 up," replied Halle. 
 
 "Just when we have got so far? Not I. You 
 haven't the spunk of a mouse, Bob. Do you know 
 that I have just made fifty thousand francs, and 
 when it is paid I shall hand five thousand of it over 
 to you." 
 
 A look of cupidity came into the priest's eyes. 
 His face grew paler. "Five thousand francs!" he 
 exclaimed. " Five thousand francs ! It seems worth 
 all the risk, doesn't it, Bruno? With such results, and 
 yet—" He shook his head and put his hand over 
 his eyes. "Have you seen the morning papers, 
 Bruno? " 
 
 "Pschutt! Don't be more of a woman than you 
 can help ! What are you afraid of? " 
 
 " I am afraid," said Halle. " I am afraid, and that 
 is the truth." 
 
 "Don't begin to esplode until Valery is out of the 
 way, will you, Uncle Bruno?" It was the young 
 voice of Gartha underneath the chalet window. 
 
 "Go away, Gartha! and do stop this talk of blow-
 
 104 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 ing up. I have had very few accidents, that you 
 know well." 
 
 " I am not going away, Uncle Bruno. I am com- 
 ing up, I wish to see those tuff-tuffs which you make 
 — tuff-tuffs," she repeated, looking proudly around 
 her to see who might be listening. "That is the 
 argot of the quartier, tuff-tuffs." 
 
 " You are not coming up. Go to the chateau and 
 tell Mamasha that I shall obey her orders, and dress 
 this evening " — he turned to the priest — " as becomes 
 my manly figure, eh, Bob? " Suddenly his face grew 
 pallid underneath its tint of yellow. He raised his 
 claw-like hands, and shook them in the air. " How 
 I hate the whole human race," he said, between a 
 shriek and a howl. "How I hate the Lord in 
 heaven." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Bruno ! " said Halle with a frightened 
 look. "You must not say such words." 
 
 "Look at me!" said St. Aubin, turning his bent 
 figure toward the priest. " Look at me ! I am a fine, 
 shapely creature, am I not? A fine figure of a hus- 
 band, made, as we are taught, after the image of God 
 Almighty. That peerless young creature ! She is fit 
 to be an empress. Compare us. See how in her pity 
 and good nature — and she loathes me, Halle, I can 
 see it at every glance of her eye — see how she defrauds 
 herself of her splendid height that she may try to 
 come down to my level. My level! My physical 
 level ! She could never in God's world come down 
 to my moral level " 
 
 The priest was very pale. "She could never do 
 that," he said. "No, nor to the level of any man." 
 
 "When my aunt married her to me, Bob, Alixe 
 seemed to imagine that as we had been good friends
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 105 
 
 as cousins, we should continue that friendship as 
 husband and wife. Imagine it, Halle! Two such 
 marriages ! Is there any remote nook in the extreme 
 confines of hell, white-hot enough for our dear little 
 Mamasha? She escaped the Duke, but she has not 
 escaped me." 
 
 " Bruno, Bruno ! Do not ! " said Halle. He leaned 
 out of the window and drew in long breaths of air. 
 
 " When I see her as I saw her to-day — but come, 
 Bob, I must open my boxes and get out something 
 that will become me, as the husband of the Duchess. 
 The beautiful young Duchess, and her gnome of a 
 husband ! We should act a play for our guests to- 
 night ; it should be called ' Beauty and the Beast. ' 
 Here, Bob, take these keys and open the small box." 
 Halle caught the jangling ring thrown at him, knelt, 
 and applied a small key to the lock of one of the 
 boxes. He threw the lid upward. St. Aubin turned. 
 
 "No, no, not that one!" Halle looked up at the 
 fierce tone. St. Aubin's face was convulsed with 
 passion. " May I never forget the cause of my pros- 
 perity? Not for one moment? Must you always be 
 reminding me of it? Fool ! " 
 
 Halle winced as if he had been struck as he closed 
 the lid and hid from view the mass of machinery, 
 wheels, springs, cogs and levers. 
 
 " Lock it ! " commanded Bruno, " and open the pale 
 yellow box. That matches my complexion of cream 
 and roses? That belongs to a gentleman, the husband 
 of a Duchess ; the box which you have just closed, to 
 a devil from hell."
 
 IX. 
 
 When Quentin entered the great salon at eight 
 o'clock, he found it full of people, among them sev- 
 eral persons whom he had not seen before. Lady 
 Barnes was there, and "the Jennings girls," Miss 
 Thorndyke, and Miss Spencer, and a florid little gen- 
 tleman who was introduced as Lord Eldon. Every 
 one was laughing at the little man's jokes, Valery 
 loudest of all. The Rastaquouere was a resplendent 
 vision, and though dressed in customary suit of sol- 
 emn black, his inevitable gorgeousness made the other 
 men appear more or less as if they had not dressed at 
 all. He had gone to the extreme, as ever, in decora- 
 tion. The Count was there, and Father Halle; and 
 who was that tall vision of loveliness standing near 
 the flower-filled chimney place, talking with an old 
 gentleman who bore a striking resemblance to Napo- 
 leon Third? The old Russian hat in which he had 
 seen her was gone. The beautiful hair was arranged 
 in a coronet, a diamond tiara crowning the whole. 
 The lovely shoulders were bare, as were the fair arms 
 and hands. The gown of grey lisse sprinkled with 
 cut steel, the necklace of diamonds and pearls sur- 
 rounding the statuesque throat, the collar clasped at 
 the back, the strings of pearls falling in rows upon 
 her neck, enhanced her beauty and made a picture 
 which Quentin never forgot.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 107 
 
 ■ She seems to carry all the family property on her 
 person," said Miss Spencer's ubiquitous voice. " You 
 know what Harry Ware said, I suppose, that when 
 the Duke died, she laid down her cross and took up 
 her crown." 
 
 Quentin stood gazing spellbound at this wonderful 
 picture, hardly hearing Miss Spencer's words. 
 
 "She has forgotten to stoop," said Miss Spencer. 
 
 " A young goddess ! " he breathed. He heard as if 
 in a dream Madame's voice saying to Lord Eldon, 
 "Have you seen the Paris journals?" and Lord El- 
 don's answer, "I saw them on the train." He heard 
 Valery say, " Mamasha, what a spoil-sport you are. 
 You know very well that the Daniellis were on board 
 that steamer. Don't speak so loud, Alixe may hear 
 you." He heard another voice saying, "How our 
 dear Mamasha loves a sensation." Quentin turned 
 and saw a little yellow creature who was looking 
 upward at Madame, though she was a small woman. 
 
 "We are speaking of a terrible accident at sea," 
 said Madame explanatorily in a lowered tone of 
 voice. "Have you met the Count, Mr. Quentin? 
 Bruno, this is my friend, Mr. Quentin. The Da- 
 nielli girls have just been staying here, and Virginia 
 was perhaps the dearest friend that Alixe had, in 
 fact " 
 
 "I forbid you to tell the Duchess until to-mor- 
 row," said St. Aubin sharply. He had bowed 
 slightly to Quentin, showing plainly by his speech 
 and manner that he resented the familiar use of his 
 wife's name to an utter stranger. Quentin under- 
 stood his intention, and turned away somewhat an- 
 noyed, feeling that it was not his fault if Madame 
 was at times a trifle underbred.
 
 108 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Of course it was a French steamer," said Lord 
 Eldon. 
 
 " There you go with your British prejudices. Mr. 
 Quentin, Lord Eldon," said Madame parenthetically. 
 " No, unfortunately a German one, though why I say 
 unfortunately I do not know. It is all unfortunate. 
 Why! Bruno," turning to him, "that is the very 
 steamer you crossed in to Southampton, isn't it? " 
 
 Quentin glanced at the Count and saw he was 
 trembling slightly ; the thought flashed through his 
 mind that perhaps there was some one on board for 
 whom the Count cared. Perhaps one of those girls 
 who had been staying at the Abbey; and he now 
 remembered that Miss Spencer had suggested, among 
 the other bits of information which she had gratui- 
 tously given him, that he (St. Aubin) had been more 
 interested in her than propriety demanded. A feel- 
 ing of resentment arose within his breast that the 
 husband of that peerless woman could even think of 
 any one else. 
 
 "And the Daniellis were on board, weren't they?" 
 inquired Miss Thorndyke, who had joined the group. 
 
 "Yes, they were on board," answered St. Aubin, 
 from stiff lips. 
 
 " Faith ! you'll never get a safe steamer till you get 
 an Irish one," said Valery. "The green flag at the 
 masthead." 
 
 Lord Eldon laughed tolerantly. 
 
 "Madame is served," said Charles from the open 
 doors at the side of the salon. 
 
 Charles stood near Madame, but he looked at his 
 younger, legitimate mistress. Lord Eldon turned 
 and surveyed the room. Madame bent toward him 
 expectantly, but Lord Eldon, an old bird in diplo-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 109 
 
 macy and the usages of precedence, would rather break 
 a friendship than make a mistake in the rules which 
 no one knew better than he. He advanced toward 
 Alixe and offered his arm, at the same moment that 
 St. Aubin took Madame 's hand, and thrust it within 
 his own. Madame bit her lip as she heard St. Aubin 
 say: 
 
 " They may do it when I am away, but not when I 
 am here. Come, Mamasha dear ! Sit on my wife's 
 left, Mr. Quentin, if you please, and take the Bar- 
 oness ; Lady Barnes, on Lord Eldon's right, I think, 
 with Valery ; the cards are all there, I suppose, but 
 the table seems longer than usual somehow. Mon- 
 sieur le Maurier, take Miss Jennings, on Madame' s 
 left, if you please. Bob, pick up Miss Spencer," and 
 thus did Bruno, Count St. Aubin, marshal his forces, 
 much to Madame's chagrin and discomfiture. Bruno 
 and Monsieur le Maurier were but a poor exchange 
 for Lord Eldon and Quentin, her own particular 
 friends, but there was nothing to be done, and Ma- 
 dame knew when to submit. Her smile was as that 
 of an angel as she took her place. Quentin, bewil- 
 dered and astonished, found himself on the left of 
 the young chatelaine. He gazed curiously at her for 
 a moment as her nearer radiance enveloped him. 
 Decidedly, Alixe, in the old Russian hat, and the 
 concealing laces, and Alixe wearing a queen's ransom 
 upon her throat, her neck, her arms, a crown upon 
 her lovely head, seemed two entirely different crea- 
 tures, although Quentin found that there appeared 
 to be no change in her own point of view or manner, 
 because of these adornments. 
 
 The conversation between Lord Eldon and Valer3 r 
 turned upon speculations and the value of modern
 
 110 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 investment, and the Kastaquouere sang the glories of 
 the Eand and the result if a Briton, meaning an Irish- 
 man, could once get " a fair show." " I can't see why 
 you don't come out there and invest, Bruno," called 
 Valery down the long table. 
 
 St. Aubin thrust aside some flowers and vines to 
 answer him. 
 
 " How much does your speculation out there bring 
 you in, Yalery? " he asked. 
 
 Valery, with ready and not too scrupulous imagi- 
 nation, mentioned a sum whose size took away the 
 breaths of the listeners. St. Aubin looked up at the 
 priest. "Perhaps that would have been safer, Bob," 
 said he. The priest looked uneasy. 
 
 "I am not a business man," he replied, "and I 
 know nothing absolutely of speculation, but if I 
 were, I should certainly advise the Band; certainly." 
 
 "But, you see Bruno doesn't know anything about 
 the Band, and he does about inventions," said Ma- 
 dame. " And then he is so kind-hearted ! He could 
 not bear to see those poor creatures work so hard out 
 there. Now, in his inventive business, there is no 
 need of his killing anybody but himself." Madame 
 had no fancy for seeing more of the fortune, which she 
 had with such difficulty succeeded in obtaining, melt 
 away into thin air. 
 
 St. Aubin' s fork dropped from his hand to his 
 plate with anything but a well-bred clatter. 
 
 " Mamasha ! " he said in a tone of annoyance, " how 
 often have I told you that I cannot bear to be talked 
 about ! " 
 
 " Modesty, Bruno ! Modesty ! " said Valery. 
 
 " When does the first train leave in the morning? ' 
 asked Miss Spencer.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 111 
 
 Madame caught the question. 
 
 " At nine o'clock, I think, Ada. But surely you do 
 not think of going away to-morrow." 
 
 "I think I must return." Miss Spencer looked 
 down at her plate, then up again. "And Mary 
 Thorndyke is coming with me." This addition in 
 answer to an appealing look from Miss Thorndyke, 
 who had begged her that at dinner she would 
 make their causes one. "You see my aunt is ail- 
 ing." 
 
 "Mary Thorndyke's aunt isn't ailing." 
 
 "But grandma is quite feeble, Madame, and I 
 really think I must go too." 
 
 " Will there be room in the wagonette for me and 
 my secretary ? " asked the elder Miss Jennings. " I 
 find that I must go to the British Museum to exam- 
 ine some books. I want to study a little and finish 
 my researches before I go to Sir Henry's on the 
 twelfth." 
 
 "Going shooting?" inquired Valery from his seat 
 down the table. 
 
 "Do you shot ven you are there? " inquired Made- 
 moiselle. 
 
 "I carry a gun generally," answered Miss Jennings 
 in a carelessly superior tone. 
 
 " And leave the secretary to do the writing, I sup- 
 pose," said Valery. "Is that the way books are 
 made?" and then, waiting for no answer, "Who are 
 you going gunning for? Ought to be Bruno. See 
 now, Bruno " — stretching his neck an inch from its 
 covering, like a turtle overburdened with fat — " how 
 you are frightening Miss Muffett away by the whole- 
 sale." 
 
 " I cannot see what I have to do with the exodus, "
 
 112 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 said St. Aubin, carefully dissecting an artichoke. 
 " What a wretched apology for a vegetable this is ! " 
 
 " Why, Bruno, dear ! " replied Madame in a plain- 
 tive tone. " I had Jeannot cook them especially for 
 you. You are always asking for them." 
 
 "A very poor way to eat a very good sauce," re- 
 marked Valery. " Hand me the artichokes, Charles." 
 
 Meanwhile the dinner passed at Quentin's end of 
 the table, to him, as if it were a dream. He said but 
 little, listening while Alixe, as he called her in his 
 thoughts, discussed politics, English, French, and 
 Kussian, and the church, Protestant and Catholic, 
 with Lord Eldon. 
 
 When Alixe, looking at Madame, arose simultane- 
 ously with her, and was escorted by Lord Eldon to 
 the salon, and Quentin had deposited the Baroness 
 there also, he returned to the dining-room, to find 
 that the men servants had finished withdrawing the 
 cloth. The wine was placed at one end of the table. 
 Lord Eldon moved into Madame 's vacant seat next 
 the Count, and the others closed up the spaces, by 
 placing themselves in the seats left empty. 
 
 The conversation, which was resumed by Lord El- 
 don, was of the loss of the Atlantic steamer. 
 
 " I read the account in the train as I was coming 
 down here," said he. "I did not mention it to your 
 wife, because you asked me not to, or else you asked 
 Madame, I forget which; but don't you think it a 
 very singular thing? The weather has been particu- 
 larly good all this month. There has been no fog 
 reported, and no other steamer reports a collision. 
 They found, I believe, part of one of the boats, piece 
 of the bow with the letters ' — cean Mona — ' That 
 proves it without doubt to be the Ocean Monarch,
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 113 
 
 for whose arrival the owners have been looking for 
 the last two weeks." 
 
 St. Aubin moistened his dry lips. 
 
 "Ice, probably," he said huskily. 
 
 " The brute ! " said Quentin to himself. " To care 
 for any other woman in the world." 
 
 He glanced at the priest, whose elbow was resting 
 on the table, his eyes shaded by his hand. Suddenly 
 Halle raised his head, poured out and drank off a 
 petit verre, then another, in such rapid haste that he 
 coughed and strangled as the clear liquid ran down 
 his throat. 
 
 "You're a good son of the church, Father Bob," 
 said Valery, laughing and patting Halle on the back. 
 "See how accustomed they are to liquor. They 
 never drink at all, you know, at least not in public; " 
 this with a sly wink at Lord Eldon. 
 
 "The exception proves the rule/' said Lord Eldon. 
 " Verbum sat sapienti " 
 
 "Let him alone, can't you, Valery? There's noth- 
 ing worse than having liquor go the wrong way." 
 
 " Faith, I believe you, Bruno," said Valery. " And 
 that's down somebody else's throat." 
 
 " If you will excuse me, Eldon, " said St. Aubin, " I 
 will withdraw; I have had a very fatiguing trip." 
 
 "Went to Southampton, didn't you?" asked Va- 
 lery in an inquisitive tone. " The second time since 
 the Daniellis left, isn't it? " 
 
 " No, only the first. Yes, yes. I went to South- 
 ampton. How you do keep harping on my going to 
 Southampton. One would think no one ever went to 
 Southampton before. As a matter of fact, thousands 
 of people go to Southampton every year, and why my 
 
 going should be considered at all pecu " 
 
 8
 
 114 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Valery looked up at St. Aubin in astonishment. 
 
 " Highty-tighty, we are touchy ! What's the mat- 
 ter with you, Bruno? " 
 
 "Bruno!" said Halle, in a tone which had an 
 undercurrent of warning in it. 
 
 "I remained in England a fortnight after — 
 after " 
 
 " Mamasha said you were going to stay with Lord 
 Eldon, that you told her so," said Valery. 
 
 "She must have misunderstood me," said St. 
 Aubin, glancing in an embarrassed manner at Lord 
 Eldon' s surprised face. "I went to look at some 
 chemical works. I think of investing in them, buy- 
 ing some stock— they are making great improve- 
 ments in " 
 
 "Sending good money after bad," said Valery. 
 
 "What is it, Charles?" said St. Aubin, to the ser- 
 vant who had been standing behind him for some mo- 
 ments and was at that moment first observed by him. 
 
 "A person to see you, Monsieur le Comte," said 
 Charles in a low tone. 
 
 " What ! Who can it be at this hour? My God, 
 Bruno!" The priest arose in apparent agitation; 
 every trace of color had left his face. 
 
 " Hush ! " said St. Aubin, " I will go and see. " He 
 laid his arm round Halle's shoulder. " You had bet- 
 ter come away yourself, perhaps. He is not well, 
 Valery " 
 
 "He said, sir," began Charles. 
 
 " What the devil is it to you what he said? " began 
 St. Aubin. "You are forgetting your manners. I 
 will come out to him." 
 
 Halle arose and joined St. Aubin and the two 
 passed out of the door together.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 115 
 
 " Queer ! " said Valery, looking after them. 
 
 "Only a workman, monsieur," said Charles, who 
 loved to appear to know all that went on at the 
 chateau. 
 
 " A workman ! I thought it was a message about 
 those unfortunate people. I never saw Halle so up- 
 set. He can't be well. They have been after him 
 with a pretty sharp stick up there in Paris." 
 
 " He looks worse than I have ever seen him," re- 
 marked Monsieur le Maurier, who was credited with 
 being a secret partner in the firm of one of the most 
 prominent of Parisian journals. He then began to 
 tell all that he knew of the loss of the Ocean Mon- 
 arch. He piled horror on horror, until Quentin 
 turned away, sick at heart. As he arose, he heard 
 Valery say to Lord Eldon : 
 
 "Can there really be anything in the story that 
 Ada Spencer is telling, of Bruno's infatuation for 
 Virginia Danielli?" Lord Eldon's answer he did 
 not catch, for he had crossed the room and was in 
 the grand salon.
 
 When St. Aubin and the priest emerged upon the 
 terrace, they walked toward the chalet. 
 
 "Where is the man, Pierre Monrouge? " called the 
 Count. 
 
 " I am here, Monsieur, " said a voice from out the 
 shadow. A form arose and came out from under the 
 recess formed by the chalet pillars. The man wore 
 the blouse of a workman. 
 
 "Oh, it is you, Guerin," said Halle. He drew a 
 long breath, which was half a sigh of relief. "I 
 thought it might be " 
 
 "Never mind what you thought," said St. Aubin. 
 "You are losing your mind, Bob. You talk too 
 much. You must control yourself better. If you 
 do not think of yourself, think of me — Well," turn- 
 ing to the workman, " what have you to say to the 
 Count? " 
 
 "I have something for the Count," said the man in 
 a clear tone of voice, whose owner was plainly con- 
 scious of nothing that he wished to conceal. 
 
 "Don't roar so, my good man. There! There! 
 Give it to me." 
 
 "The Father promised me that I should see the 
 Count this time," said the stranger, looking at 
 Halle. 
 
 "The Count is engaged with guests," said St.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 117 
 
 Aubin. " Why did not you send for the Father here, 
 instead of sending into the table for the Count? " 
 
 "He said that he would see me when I came 
 again," said the man doggedly. "You said so, Fa- 
 ther. I want to ask him about a little patch of 
 ground " 
 
 "I will carry your message to him," said St. 
 Aubin, "and send the Father back with the an- 
 swer." 
 
 "It is always the same," said the man turning 
 impatiently away ; " they always say that he is away 
 or engaged. It is a small patch of ground which 
 adjoins a bit of my wife's " 
 
 " If you will write it down and send it here to the 
 Count, I will see that he gets it and that he sends 
 an answer," said St. Aubin. 
 
 "And my payment for the little springs " 
 
 "I will pay for them," said St. Aubin at once. 
 "Run to my room, Bob. You will find some loose 
 change in my pockets, and some notes in the secre- 
 taire." 
 
 "The work is very incomplete," said the man as 
 Halle walked away. "I cannot see how it can be 
 of use to the Count as it is, because " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know it is incomplete, my good man, 
 but you have not seen the door on which the Count 
 wishes to use it. You know he is quite an inventor, 
 our Count, and you will not have to use it. It will 
 be properly arranged by the Count himself. " 
 
 " If the monsieur allow, I should like some food, " 
 said the man humbly. "I have walked a long dis- 
 tance to arrive at this time, as I was ordered." 
 
 " It is true," said St. Aubin. " But the Count told 
 the Father, I thought, to meet you this evening, in
 
 118 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Paris — he could not get away. Mamasha is, as Val- 
 ery says, a spoil-sport." He said these last words 
 to Halle, whose footsteps sounded near. 
 
 "Why didn't you take the train and go to Paris as 
 I told you?" said Halle. "I have been waiting for 
 your petit bleu." 
 
 " It costs money to go to Paris, Father, and I did 
 not know if the Count would be willing to pay 
 for " 
 
 " Not so loud, my man. It was distinctly under- 
 stood, Guerin, that you were to take the train and 
 go to Paris and that I was to meet you in the Rue 
 Vaugirard. You were to telegraph me " 
 
 "People are lost in the great city," said Guerin. 
 
 " Yes, that is exactly why I told you to — but what 
 is the use of talking to — Which road did you take 
 to come here? " 
 
 " The South road, Father, along by the great farm 
 of Monsieur d'Alben, and so round by Pontarles. It 
 is a long walk. It took me two hours and over." 
 
 " And the trip to Paris would have taken you but 
 little more, and you would have seen Paris. Did 
 any one know you were coming here? " 
 
 "No, Father." 
 
 " Your tongue will be the death of you, Bob, not to 
 speak of some one much more important. Tell Eu- 
 gene to get this man some food. He can eat it here 
 and then be off." 
 
 "I could go to the kitchen, monsieur," suggested 
 the man. " It does not become me to allow the mon- 
 sieur to order a servant to wait on me; I, a poor 
 ouvrier " 
 
 "Don't moralize, my man. They are all busy in 
 there. We have a great houseful to-night. Eat and
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 119 
 
 drink, and then start back upon your road. Who is 
 that? " 
 
 " I am only enjoying the night, Monsieur le Comte." 
 
 " And this is Monsieur le Comte ! " said the work- 
 man turning to St. Aubin in astonishment. 
 
 " No, no ! " said Halle in a low tone. " This is 
 another Count, the Count of — but what matter to 
 you? Eat and drink, my good man, and be off. You 
 have made your little springs very well, but see that 
 you do not talk about them. When there is much 
 talk of Kevenants, and one buys a little spring to 
 close a door against the spirits " 
 
 "Good heavens, Halle! Will you never silence 
 that tongue of yours? Give him his money and let 
 him go." These words from St. Aubin were said in 
 Italian. Halle put some money into the man's hand, 
 at which the latter looked down in surprise. 
 
 " It was to be only ten francs, and the Father has 
 given me a louis." 
 
 "Nom de Dieu, man! Have you no pity for my 
 nerves, you with your eternal clack and cavilling? Is 
 it not enough? Most men would be glad to get twice 
 what they have earned. I pay you this because the 
 Count has no place to offer you within the chateau." 
 
 "A very — remarkably — honest — man." It was le 
 Maurier's voice. " Why should he be paid twice what 
 he has earned, Count? That is where you rich peo- 
 ple spoil the market for us poorer ones " 
 
 "It is only because we cannot take him in to- 
 night," said St. Aubin. " He can pay for his lodging 
 at some auberge;" and then, in a low tone, "Send 
 him off, Bob, my nerves are on edge." 
 
 St. Aubin went hurriedly toward the chalet and 
 Halle waited to watch the man eat his food and drink
 
 120 THE AECHBISHOP AOT) THE LADY 
 
 his wine, and to see him out of the enclosure ; while 
 le Maurier paced up and down, up and down, con- 
 cerned apparently with the doubtful beauty of the 
 night. The moon was bright and wonderful at one 
 moment, clouds covering its face at the next. When 
 the man had finished his meal, and Pierre Mon- 
 rouge had let him out of the gate, Halle followed 
 St. Aubin toward the chalet. Le Maurier stood near 
 the grille as the workman walked away. One could 
 hear his heavy shoes clumping as he moved off to 
 the right, away from the direction of Moncousis. 
 When Halle had disappeared, and Pierre Monrouge 
 had cleared away the workman's plate and glass, Mr. 
 le Maurier looked about him. The door into the 
 salon was open, and within there was music, and 
 sweet low talking, and laughter, and a glow of light, 
 which made any movement on the terrace impossible 
 to discern. He stepped close to the grille, unfast- 
 ened it quietly, then opened the door, and closing it 
 softly, he proceeded swiftly down the valley away 
 from the direction of Moncousis, as had the me- 
 chanic. 
 
 Le Maurier was gone for an hour or more. When 
 he gave the bell handle a gentle twitch, Pierre Mon- 
 rouge came sleepily and opened it. Monsieur le 
 Maurier 's face had a satisfied expression as he en- 
 tered and was informed that all the guests, as well as 
 the family, had retired. He did not tell Pierre Mon- 
 rouge not to mention his late walk, that would im- 
 press it upon his mind. He slipped in through the 
 kitchen door. He crept softly to his bed in the new 
 part of the chateau, and laid himself down with a 
 smile upon his lips, and slept the sleep of " the just 
 man made," in his own mind, almost "perfect."
 
 XI. 
 
 That night, before Quentin slept, he experienced 
 some strange sensations. He heard noises and mys- 
 terious whispers, and once or twice he thought that 
 he heard near footfalls whose sound was carefully 
 subdued, but on sitting up in his bed and lighting 
 his short candle end, he found that he was quite 
 alone. He went into the dressing room, and pene- 
 trated still further into the closet, but there he found 
 no cause for these investigations. The wind, coming 
 from he knew not where, extinguished his candle. 
 He relighted it ; again he was left in darkness. He 
 then scratched a match and held the flame close to 
 the candle, when by its light he saw that the wick was 
 at an end, though there was still an inch or two of the 
 wax left. He searched for another candle, but though 
 he scratched matches without number, he could not 
 discover oue of the half dozen which he had noticed 
 the evening before when he had dressed for dinner. 
 Things began to look careless or serious, he knew not 
 which. He threw his window wide. The open half 
 flew back and struck against the vines of the balcony. 
 The moon streamed palely in, but made the corners 
 of the room only darker than before. He pulled to 
 the door between the rooms, but now, with an ac- 
 knowledged chill in his bones, so that after begin- 
 ning to undress, he went over and bolted it. He
 
 122 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 then returned to the window and looked across at the 
 ruins. He fancied that he saw something moving 
 outside the walls. He turned and glanced at the 
 second story of the chateau. There was a bright light 
 there, and he saw that a figure was pacing up and 
 down, up and down. Sometimes the hands and arms 
 were raised to heaven, showing grotesque and gigan- 
 tic upon the white shade. Sometimes the head was 
 bowed upon the breast in the attitude which beto- 
 kens despair. Was this a ghostly visitant too? Was 
 this the room where the Lady Abbess was said to 
 walk? Suddenly Quentin felt a blast of cold air upon 
 his back. He turned. The door which he had bolted 
 was slowly opening. The room was dark and the 
 room beyond that darker still. He heard again the 
 whispering noise and then a long-drawn sigh; an 
 unmistakable sigh. Quentin, who had ever been 
 a sceptic of the truth of appearances supernatural, 
 began to believe that, at last, he was to be convinced 
 as to their reality. He went to his bed, and, with 
 an effort, he succeeded in pushing the great old-fash- 
 ioned piece of furniture across the room. He planted 
 it against the door which he had again closed and 
 then lay down. As he lay there, he heard some- 
 thing moving in the dressing room. There were 
 rustlings against the further panels, but he was 
 determinedly collecting his thoughts for slumber, 
 when suddenly there came three raps upon his 
 outer door. 
 
 Quentin sprang up, went to the door and opened it. 
 The blackness of utter darkness greeted him, for the 
 lantern was out. 
 
 He stood there for a moment, irresolute, peering 
 down the black stairway.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 123 
 
 " Well? Well? " lie shouted. " What is it? Who 
 is it? " 
 
 There was silence for a moment more, and then he 
 heard the key turn in the lock of the opposite door, 
 and some one call, "Who is there? " At the same 
 time St. Aubin threw his door open. 
 
 He stood there, a small, yellow creature, in a suit 
 of night clothes as yellow as himself. He held a 
 lighted candle which shed a feeble glow upon his 
 figure. 
 
 "It is I," said Quentin. "I heard a rap at my 
 door and thought it was " 
 
 " It is too bad for Mamasha to put you in those 
 rooms, Mr. Quentin," said St. Aubin. "She always 
 plays that trick upon strangers to convince herself, 
 through them, I believe, of the truth. No friend is 
 too sacred for Mamasha 's sacrificial altar. The wind 
 is never tempered to her shorn lambs. Has she told 
 you nothing about those " 
 
 " She asked me if I was nervous. I am not partic- 
 ularly nervous, but I should be glad to get some 
 sleep. It must be quite late. I shouldn't mind if 
 I could sleep through it." 
 
 "Ah! That's what I am afraid you cannot do," 
 said St. Aubin. " If you will come to my rooms I 
 will give you my bed. I often sleep in a chair. Fa- 
 ther Halle is snoring in beyond there like a good son 
 of the church with a quiet conscience. My third room 
 is full of bottles, or I would go in there myself, but I 
 have only two beds ; you are welcome to mine " 
 
 Quentin, ashamed to show so much appearance of 
 nervousness as to accept this offered asylum from St. 
 Aubin, or to dislodge him from his bed, laughed, 
 saying :
 
 124 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Oh, no! I don't mind. It was probably my 
 imagination. " 
 
 " No, " said St. Aubin. " It wasn't that, I am afraid. 
 Good night then. I must really speak seriously to 
 Mamasha about this to-morrow. Mamasha is a very 
 charming little person, but she will sacrifice her best 
 and dearest for a mystery. Good night," and St. 
 Aubin closed his door, rather more quickly, Quentin 
 thought, than necessary. He heard the key turn with 
 a feeling of desolation and returned from the chilly 
 landing to his own room and bolted his door, and 
 then he remembered that he might have asked the 
 Count for a candle, but he was ashamed to disturb 
 him again, and so lay down. Again he heard some 
 raps underneath his bed and others upon the outer 
 door, and once he heard a low laugh behind the door, 
 at the head of his bed, then came one tremendous 
 blow upon the panel, a thump heavy enough, he 
 thought, to crush it in, then all disturbing sounds 
 ceased, and he fell asleep.
 
 xn. 
 
 When Quentin awoke it was broad day. He found, 
 on consulting his watch, that it was nearly eight 
 o'clock. Arising, he pushed his bed back into place, 
 and then opened the door into the dressing room. 
 Within, all was as he had left it the night before. 
 He went into the further room. A gust of air re- 
 minded him of the staircase. Suddenly he decided 
 to descend it. The door at the bottom was not bolted, 
 but it was locked, and the key had been withdrawn. 
 Puzzled by this, Quentin ascended the staircase 
 again, took his bath, then returned to his room and 
 dressed. 
 
 He came out on to the landing just as St. Aubin 
 emerged from his room on the other side. A feeling 
 of pity for the man arose within his breast, he was 
 so unlike the rest of the human race. He answered 
 the Count's greeting and followed the short mis- 
 shapen figure down the stairs. The trellissed alcove 
 was bare of guests, the table unset. As he neared 
 the chateau, he saw that there were many travelling 
 boxes standing near the gate, but within the great 
 dining room no one was visible. Following St. Au- 
 bin's lead, Quentin passed through this room and 
 found himself in a much smaller apartment, which 
 he now saw for the first time. Here people were sit- 
 ting about at small tables drinking their early coffee,
 
 126 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 which the men servants were handing, and eating the 
 usual light meal which is customary in France. 
 There was a balcony outside. There Quentin pene- 
 trated, and found several of the guests taking their 
 breakfast in the bright morning sunshine. Among 
 them were Lord Eldon and Madame. Madame wore 
 a round hat and a veil, which hung loosely downward 
 and met the filmy lace of the scarf that encircled her 
 throat. Alixe was not to be seen. 
 
 "Ah! there you are," called Madame brightly. 
 " Come over here, my friend, and tell me how you 
 slept." 
 
 "Not well, I fear," said St. Aubin, who had halted 
 at Madame's elbow. "You call Mr. Quentin your 
 friend, Mamasha, and yet you put him in the room 
 at the head of the chalet stairs." St. Aubin's words 
 were spoken in italics, as it were. 
 
 "I have always thought it half imagination," said 
 Madame a little shamefacedly. "Were you dis- 
 turbed, Mr. Quentin?" 
 
 Quentin was able to laugh carelessly. 
 
 " Do I look as if I had not slept? " he asked. 
 
 Lord Eldon scrutinized him carefully. In Quen- 
 tin 's fine color and thoroughly rested look, he per- 
 ceived no sign of nervousness. 
 
 " Will you change your rooms and come over to the 
 chateau? " asked Madame, with almost a tender note 
 in her voice. " You see that presently we shall have 
 any amount of room." 
 
 Quentin glanced in at the open French window. 
 In almost every instance the women wore travelling 
 dresses and bonnets, and most of the men were in 
 rough tweed suits with alpine or straw hats lying 
 close at hand. Had Quentin needed to be told that
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 127 
 
 there was to be an exodus that morning, that fact had 
 already been openly confided to him through the 
 piles of luggage which had been seen on the terrace. 
 He thought that he, of all Madame's guests, had the 
 best reason for a sudden departure, but he determined 
 to remain at the Abbey for the length of time for 
 which he had originally been invited, even though no 
 one had so much cause to take flight as himself, for, 
 whether there had or had not been manifestations of 
 a supernatural character, he was willing to endure a 
 recurrence of them only so that he might fill out his 
 allotted time at l'Abbaye de Bref. 
 
 "What happened?" asked Lord Eldon. "Any- 
 thing really authentic? You know I belong to the 
 Psychical Research Society, and I shall be glad to 
 report it for the benefit of the Society if you will give 
 it to me in writing. Any witnesses, corroborative 
 evidence, and that sort of thing? " 
 
 "Don't, Lord Eldon!" exclaimed Madame. "It 
 will aid onl}^ in giving the chateau a bad name." 
 
 " But in the interests of science, dear lady " 
 
 "Why shouldn't people know?" said St. Aubin. 
 "I'm sure you do your best to let them know, Ma- 
 masha. The place is haunted beyond a doubt. If 
 Eldon is sceptical, he had better change rooms for 
 the night with Mr. Quentin." 
 
 " Rather allow me to occupy one of Mr. Quentin's 
 rooms," said the rosy little gentleman. He rubbed 
 his hands. "I should enjoy it immensely. I have 
 never seen or heard anything of the kind, though you 
 know the blue room at Eldon Towers is said to be 
 haunted. " 
 
 'You could not share Quentin's rooms," said St. 
 Aubin decidedly. " In the first place they are too
 
 128 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 cramped for any one man as they are, and in the 
 second place the things, whatever they are, never 
 appear to two persons at the same time. You must 
 be alone. " 
 
 Madame allowed her head to fall backward, she 
 looked up out of veil-screened eyes at Quentin. 
 "What did you see?" she asked in an undertone, 
 and then added penitently, " Do forgive me. " 
 
 "I saw nothing, nothing at all, I assure you." 
 Quentin's tone was cold. Whatever the cause of his 
 discomfiture on the previous night, he had gathered 
 from the Count that Madame had expected it, and 
 that she had not been unwilling to make him a vic- 
 tim to her curiosity. 
 
 " And you heard " 
 
 "A few raps perhaps, but nothing else. Any one 
 could have done that. A person standing underneath 
 the floor of my room in the recess where we break- 
 fast, could amuse himself and frighten a nervous 
 person by the hour, if only he had a pole that was 
 long enough. Fortunately, I am not a nervous per- 
 son " 
 
 "Did not the door open? " asked St. Aubin. 
 
 "Who told you that, Count?" asked Quentin 
 quickly. 
 
 "You told me yourself." 
 
 "No," said Quentin, "I don't think I did. I 
 couldn't have done so. It did not occur until after 
 I went back to my room, and I " 
 
 " Well, well, then, this morning as we came over to 
 the chateau." 
 
 Quentin was quite certain that he had not men- 
 tioned the fact, though he now thought that it had 
 occurred before he opened his room door.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LAM 129 
 
 " But even if you had not told me, I should have 
 known it. It is one of Mamasha's expected things 
 that always happen." 
 
 "Hush!" exclaimed Madame, sotto voce, sending 
 her glance swiftly round the listening group. 
 
 "You needn't mind us, Mamasha," called Miss 
 Spencer familiarly. "We all know those alluring 
 stories, but we are much more afraid of the living 
 than we are of the dead ; " this with a sidewise glance 
 at St. Aubin, parting retribution for some earlier real 
 or fancied slight. 
 
 "A few harmless chemicals," said he, with a short 
 laugh. "I had a little accident once, Quentin, and 
 the dear old ladies never let me forget it. I haven't 
 had one for years." 
 
 " If we get away without another, I, for one, shall 
 be happy," returned Miss Spencer spitefully. Being 
 classed with the dear old ladies was too much for her 
 equanimity. "I admit that it was not so bad an 
 accident as that of the Ocean Monarch." 
 
 St. Aubin turned his back on the speaker and said 
 hastily to Madame, "Where is Alixe this morning, 
 Mamasha?" 
 
 "She is in bed," replied Madame. "She had a 
 sleepless night, at least she says so, but it is my 
 experience that people sleep much more than they 
 think they do. Now I, who never really close my 
 eyes before three or four in the morning " 
 
 " Oh, Mamasha ! what a bad conscience you must 
 have," said Bruno with playful earnestness. 
 
 "She said that she could see no one," continued 
 
 Madame, ignoring Bruno's remark. " But likely as 
 
 not, if I go up there, she will be off among the hills. 
 
 She may be miles away by this time. Alixe is a 
 
 9
 
 130 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 great walker. She heard in some way late last night 
 about the Daniellis." 
 
 " Heavens ! how you do harp on " 
 
 " She can shut herself within the iron doors of the 
 Abbess's room," continued Madame, drowning St. 
 Aubin's reproof, " and no one can disturb her. Some 
 people are so selfish in their grief. I loved Virginia 
 Danielli as if she were my own chi — niece, but for 
 me I must always go about wearing a smiling mask 
 before the world." 
 
 " Oh, ze heartless whorl ! " commented the Bar- 
 oness, who was gazing up at St. Aubin as if begging 
 him to spare her life yet another day. 
 
 Here Charles appeared at the window opening 
 upon the balcony. 
 
 " The landau and the char-a-bancs are at the door, 
 Madame." 
 
 "And my boxes?" chanted Lady Barnes, Miss 
 Spencer and Miss Thorndyke in a soprano chorus. 
 
 "They are half way to the station by this time," 
 said the Count. " I saw to that myself " 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! so good of you ! " exclaimed all 
 three, and then looked at Bruno to see that he had 
 obliged himself more than them. There was the 
 bustle and stir of rising. 
 
 "Must you go?" exclaimed Madame. "I am so 
 sorry. Alixe will be too. She would wish me to say 
 good-bye to you all. She cannot see you. She heard 
 only late last night of the loss of the Ocean Monarch." 
 
 " Mamasha ! " said Bruno. " How you do love to 
 sup full with horrors " 
 
 " And she has not slept at all, so she says. For 
 me, I must always wear a smiling mask, etc., etc., 
 etc."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 131 
 
 Quentin, as lie heard these words, thought that he 
 understood the reason for the lonely light which he 
 had seen in the night time from his window in the 
 chalet, and the cause for the shadow upon the curtain 
 and the despairing march to and fro. 
 
 " She will get over it," said Valery. "We all have 
 to get over these things. My aunt was going out to 
 India, when I was a little chap, and she was lost. 
 She left me a tidy little sum, the foundation of my 
 fortunes, and much as I loved her, I was in a meas- 
 ure comforted for her loss. It's dreadful to gain by 
 the death of any one who is dear to you, but you 
 can't help being more resigned than if you get not 
 a sou marque. Isn't that so, Bruno? Hulloa, man, 
 what's the matter? " 
 
 St. Aubin was staggering backward, his hands out- 
 stretched to grasp the table, something, anything, 
 that he need not fall. He stumbled against a chair 
 and seated himself suddenly, trembling. 
 
 "It's pretty dreadful," whispered Miss Spencer to 
 Quentin, "to wake up some fine morning and find 
 that the girl you love is dead, but why one should 
 mourn departed friends when one has a handsome 
 wife of one's own, and that wife has a handsome for- 
 tune of her own " 
 
 "Don't ask me to believe such a thing," said Quen- 
 tin. " No one could imagine for a moment " 
 
 "Well, I didn't until I saw him last evening. They 
 were here just before they sailed— the Daniellis, I 
 mean. Bruno did not seem particularly attentive to 
 Virginia then, but he went off at almost a moment's 
 notice, and they had a convenient telegram and 
 started the next day " 
 
 "The convenient telegram was, I believe, to the
 
 132 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 effect that a brother of those people was dying. 
 There could have been no collusion in that " 
 
 " At all events they happened to join the steamer 
 at Southampton in which he had crossed from Ham- 
 burg. They say that he tried to get them to wait for 
 the next steamer, but they were set on going. Alixe 
 is, certainly, with all her faults, the least exigeante 
 of wives. She cared more for Virginia Danielli than 
 for forty thousand Brunos, and we see how much he 
 cared for Virginia, as he nearly faints away every 
 time her name is mentioned." 
 
 " One would feel the loss of any friend in that ter- 
 ribly tragic way," said Quentin. He glanced at the 
 pallid man seated by the table pretending to drink 
 coffee from a spoon which trembled so that the brown 
 liquid ran down upon his shirt front. 
 
 " But come ! " said Miss Spencer. " I must get 
 into the landau. I hate a wagonette, and they are 
 sure to have one. I cannot ride backward. Mama- 
 sha is sure to save the pony chaise, which I dote on, 
 for that ' first ride together. ' " She looked archly at 
 Quentin, then turned and rustled out through the 
 salon. At the door she turned again and laid her 
 well-gloved hand on Quentin's arm. "Promise me 
 one thing," she said. "Don't, if you love me, stay 
 in that dreadful chalet another night. " 
 
 The question of love for Miss Spencer had not 
 entered into the mind of Quentin to conceive, but he 
 answered gaily, 
 
 " I am not afraid of spirits. When they find that 
 I do not " 
 
 " I am not thinking of heavenly spirits, not of ele- 
 mental, nor of those who because of their sins have 
 not been able to get away from the first or inner
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 133 
 
 circle that Lord Eldon is always talking about, but 
 of a very earthly spirit, Christian-named Bruno. Be 
 careful how you offend him. I wouldn't sleep under 
 that roof with all those chemicals for all the — Yes, 
 yes, Mary Thorndyke. I am coming, save a seat for 
 me. Good-bye, again! Come to see me in Paris 
 when you come up, Rue Francois Premier, or better 
 still, meet me at Eldon Towers. I am going there a 
 little later. Lady Alfred is an old friend of mine — 
 Au revoir, in Paris." 
 
 Quentin followed his voluble friend out on to the 
 terrace. As he stepped from the salon to the stone 
 at the door he heard a faint shriek. There stood the 
 Baroness pointing with her small brown finger at 
 some demijohns which had been placed on the ter- 
 race while they had been at breakfast. 
 
 " Nitro-glycerine. I know it is," said Miss Thorn- 
 dyke in a hurried whisper. "Come! dear Lady 
 Barnes. Let us get into the landau before they dis- 
 member us quite." 
 
 St. Aubin by this time had also appeared upon the 
 terrace: His voice seemed to have regained its 
 strength. 
 
 "Drive the horses very slowly, Pierre Monrouge," 
 he said seriously. "Even the rumble of the wheels 
 is apt to explode them, they are so very sensitive." 
 
 " Oh ! " shrieked Miss Jennings from the high front 
 seat of the wagonette where she had taken her place 
 by Eugene. " Is there no other way to the station? " 
 
 " Es fiihrt kein anderen weg nach Kussnach," de- 
 clared St. Aubin, his low spirits flown to the winds, 
 his face full of a concealed amusement. 
 
 ' Wrap the horses ' feet in dusters or something-," 
 screamed Lady Barnes. " Muffle them. Here, take
 
 134 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 my shawl. The carriage robes, any thing— perhaps 
 I could walk," but Pierre Monrouge, at a signal from 
 St. Aubin, had started off, a dull smile pervading his 
 countenance. Lady Barnes was pulled down into her 
 seat by Miss Thorndyke. She immediately thrust 
 her fingers as far within her ears as her veil would 
 allow, and shrank into the extreme corner of the car- 
 riage until they were a good mile from the Abbey. 
 When the last of the guests had driven away, St. 
 Aubin called to Charles to bring some glasses. 
 
 "What for, Bruno?" asked Madame anxiously. 
 "Don't try anything here, I beg of you, Bruno." 
 
 St. Aubin was tugging at one of the great bottles, 
 trying to raise it to the table in the recess. When 
 he had succeeded, he uncorked the demijohn. "Be 
 quick with those glasses, Charles ! " he called impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Oh, Bruno ! Do not, I pray, I beg " 
 
 St. Aubin tipped the neck of the demijohn and 
 filled one of the glasses held ready by Charles. 
 
 "Bring some ice, Charles. Have a taste, Mama- 
 sha? No? It is only Evian, the purest water I 
 believe that Switzerland affords." 
 
 Lord Eldon burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and 
 Yalery doubled up like the blade of a knife, and 
 chuckled internally until he was crimson. 
 
 "Bruno," he said, "Bruno, I'll back you to play a 
 practical joke with any man alive. Now we shall 
 have the chateau all to ourselves. Mademoiselle, 
 Baroness, Quentin, try some of St. Aubin' s nitro- 
 glycerine." 
 
 "Yes," said St. Aubin, "wasn't it fortunate that 
 the coming of the Evian and myself were simulta- 
 neous?"
 
 xni. 
 
 Quentin had seen nothing that day of the young 
 mistress of the house — as he was now beginning to 
 consider her. So far as he was concerned she had 
 wrapped herself within that impenetrable veil which 
 friendship may not unfold, which curiosity may not 
 peep under, which derision and scorn have no power 
 to force aside, the mantle of the dignity of silence. 
 Quentin played billiards with Valery all the morning 
 and listened to his amusing comments on Madame 's 
 aid in the opening of his boxes. 
 
 "She wants most of the universe," said Valery, 
 " but I told her that I should like her to reserve a 
 few of the ragged edges for Alixe and Gartha, where- 
 upon she sighed. You know that patient sigh, a 
 sort of put-upon sigh, that makes you feel that you 
 have done nothing but impose upon her from time 
 immemorial, and she said, 'Dear Valery, Alixe and 
 Gartha will have everything after I am gone.' You 
 would think Mamasha a woman of eighty when she 
 is trying to get round the family, whereas she is only 
 forty-three at the most." Quentin gave a start. He 
 had thought his friend perhaps ten years younger. 
 
 Betrayed into expressing himself by Valery 's 
 frankness he exclaimed : 
 
 "She can't be that!" 
 
 ""Who? Mamasha? Oh, yes, she is. She's a very
 
 136 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 wonderful-looking woman, but she is older than she 
 looks. Let — me — see, Mamasha was married at sev- 
 enteen. Oh, yes, that's gospel; I know it," seeing 
 the look of disbelief in Quentin's eyes. "My little 
 wife," a wave of sadness passed over Valery's face as 
 he said these words — " My little wife was born the 
 year after Mamasha was married, when Mamasha 
 was eighteen, in fact. Alixe was born when Mamasha 
 was twenty-four with a few months to the good. 
 Twice nineteen, well, call Mamasha about forty-three. 
 Women have done some fatal work when they were 
 on the wrong side of forty. You know about the 
 General; he was probably Mamasha' s second. Ma- 
 masha's past is shrouded in mystery— before Carle- 
 ton, the deluge. It was great enough, however, to 
 wash out any other footprints which were traced in 
 Mamasha's sands of time." 
 
 "Carleton?" said Quentin inquiringly. "Oh, 
 yes ! I remember you told me something of the 
 kind. " He saw in memory the white headstone which 
 contained the name of Allaire Carleton. This name 
 was now to be explained by his frank friend. 
 
 "There! I've miscued. You can't even talk of 
 Mamasha, Quentin, and not get into a scrape. After 
 Mamasha's second died, the old General, you know " 
 — Quentin nodded his head understandingly, and 
 chalked his cue — " Lady Barnes came to congratu — 
 I mean, condole with Mamasha. Lady Barnes had 
 been freed from old Barnes for four or five months. 
 He was a dreadful old rip. He had married the 
 widow Thatcher. People called her the widower 
 catcher. Well, to return to the episode. There! I 
 missed my shot." 
 
 Quentin made a bridge with his fingers and leaned
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 137 
 
 over the table, apparently giving all his attention to 
 his next stroke. 
 
 " Well, the two met. The one all tears and gush, 
 the other all smiles and sympathy. Mamasha, they 
 say, sat smoothing her crepe and looking down. 
 Alixe, Mademoiselle says, bought it for her at fifty- 
 five francs the metre. Well, there she sat, smoothing 
 it down and looking on the floor. 
 
 " ' This is the second time, ' she said, ' the second 
 time. ' The tears dropped on a black-bordered hand- 
 kerchief, warranted to catch 'em without letting 'em 
 soak through and spoil the crepe. 
 
 "Lady Barnes smoothed her ten-francs-a-metre 
 crepe in accompaniment to Mamasha's motions. Old 
 Barnes had left her low in funds. She looked up at 
 Mamasha with a hard bright smile. 
 
 " ' It is the second time with me, too, Annie Carle- 
 ton, ' she said, ' but I live in the hope that there may 
 be yet another. One can do nothing but try, you 
 know!'" 
 
 "I should think Lady Barnes would hardly try 
 again to any purpose, " said Quentin, smiling at the 
 story. 
 
 "Ah! but Mamasha. There's the girl for you ! I 
 have a great admiration for Mamasha. She can fasci- 
 nate any one. There was a little American here 
 named Ware, a common little outsider. She brought 
 him home, and made him fetch and carry for her 
 until I was absolutely almost tempted to tell him 
 her age, but Alixe saved me the trouble. There ! can 
 you carom like that? Five cushions and the red 
 ball ! Pretty fair, I call that. " 
 
 "What did she do? " asked Quentin breathlessly, 
 fearing to hear he knew not what.
 
 138 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Who? Alixe? Why, she only came home, that 
 was all. She never looked at the little beggar of 
 course, but after that Mamasha's puddin' was all 
 dough. She's got a pretty level head, has Mamasha, 
 with it all. The only mistake she made was marry- 
 ing Alixe to that little inventor Bruno. He's a good 
 enough fellow, as men go, but he's a perfect spend- 
 thrift. No head at all ! He sends good money after 
 bad with the greatest equanimity. No fortune can 
 stand a strain like that, you know. My little wife " 
 — a sigh— "and Alixe, were the only children Mama- 
 sha ever had." 
 
 " The only children ! " gasped Quentin, finding his 
 idol tottering, though he had been almost assured in 
 his own mind of the truth since the morning in the 
 glade. 
 
 "Yes, the only ones. Didn't know she was Al- 
 ixe's mother? I declare! I had forgotten the little 
 fraud Mamasha likes to practise. Oh, yes! she is 
 my little Gartha's grandmother straight enough, a 
 pretty young-looking one you'll admit." 
 
 " Valery ! Valery ! " It was Madame 's sweet high 
 voice. It came from her seat under the spreading 
 tree upon the terrace. 
 
 "Coming! Coming, Mamasha! Just knock the 
 balls about, will you, Quentin, till I get back. I 
 wouldn't for the world let her know that I told you. 
 I spoiled another little game of hers once quite unin- 
 tentionally, not Harry Ware — some one else who 
 was — Coming, coming, Mamasha ; " and Yalery 
 ran out of the room cue in hand. 
 
 Quentin pushed the balls about thinking deeply. 
 Meanwhile he caught a glimpse through the open door 
 of a tall black figure, passing out of a further entrance.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 139 
 
 It was Alixe. Her face looked drawn and sad, even 
 at that distance, and Quentin judged that she had 
 shed many tears. Had he but known it, they were 
 even now welling over from her eyes and dropping 
 down upon her black dress. A few minutes later he 
 heard Valery's goodly sole crushing the gravel of 
 the terrace. He joined Quentin with a self-satisfied 
 air. 
 
 "Now, if you don't say anything, she'll never 
 know I told you," was his first remark. "She asked 
 me to remember my promise, and I told her I would. 
 She then repeated what she has said to me a hundred 
 times, that people have said that it was a very unnatu- 
 ral marriage, and that she preferred to pose as the 
 aunt of Alixe, and let people think she had nothing 
 to do with it. Did you ever hear such a lame reason 
 as that? But I suppose it's all she could think of. 
 Poor old Mamasha ! There! Imiscuedagain. That's 
 what comes of talking of Mamasha. She's sure to 
 get me into a mess sooner or later." 
 
 Meanwhile Alixe had joined Madame on the ter- 
 race. 
 
 "You are a perfect fright, Alixe," was Madame's 
 greeting. " I never saw any woman look as ugly as 
 you do when you cry. Your nose is all out of shape, 
 your eyelids are like bags, your " 
 
 " I know it," answered Alixe. " It makes me really 
 ill to cry. I hate to cry, but oh, mother " 
 
 " Hush ! " Madame looked quickly toward the 
 salon windows. 
 
 "Pardon me," said Alixe. "I am not considering 
 appearances to-day. Oh ! To think of it ! Virginia 
 dead! Drowned! Lost in that dark cold water. 
 I shall never forget it. Never, never ! I saw her all
 
 140 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 last niglit holding up her hands. She was holding 
 up her hands, my little Virginia, she was — calling — 
 calling " 
 
 "Who?" asked St. Aubin abruptly. He had 
 joined them. 
 
 "Virginia Danielli," answered Alixe in a heart- 
 broken voice. "She was sinking down, down into 
 that icy sea. It was so black, so black ! The great 
 waves were curling over her head, and she was hold- 
 ing up her hands. You know what pretty hands 
 Virginia had, Bruno. She did not turn to me. It 
 was so strange, Bruno, she turned to you and begged 
 you to save her, only to stretch out your hand, and 
 you turned away, Bruno. You would not. Oh ! you 
 would not." 
 
 "You must have slept a little, then, Alixe," said 
 Madame impatiently. "For that part of it must 
 have been a dream. Bruno was not within " 
 
 " No, no ! It was not a dream. A waking dream 
 if you will, for I walked the floor the long night 
 through. I saw her ever, Virginia, my one dear 
 friend, in that great expanse of sea. Bruno looked 
 at her so coldly, so sarcastically almost. He did not 
 stretch out his hand — did not " 
 
 "What! what! Bruno? Alixe, do you think that 
 no one has any feeling but yourself? Look at my 
 poor boy ! Eugene ! Eugene ! Go ! Go ! Some 
 brandy, quick! quick! for heaven's sake!" 
 
 "Oh! forgive me, Bruno, forgive me," said Alixe 
 bending over the now prostrate man. 
 
 " You know how weak his heart is, Alixe. How 
 can you be so forgetful of everyone but " 
 
 " I was thoughtless, thoughtless ! " said Alixe, al- 
 ways ready to blame herself. "Bun, Eugene, run!
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 141 
 
 Oh, Lord Eldon, come ! Come here ! " That noble- 
 man hastened to the scene. His pocket flask was 
 uncorked in a moment. "What is it? What is it? " 
 he asked. 
 
 No one answered him. Alixe, with her hat fallen 
 off, her pale face and swollen eyelids making sad 
 havoc with her young beauty, was rubbing St. Au- 
 bin's hands. Lord Eldon forced some brandy down 
 his throat and laid him gently prostrate upon the 
 terrace. Alixe dropped to the ground, and took the 
 strange dark head in her lap. She smoothed the 
 crisp black hair, and put Madame's smelling salts 
 to the pinched nostrils. In a moment St. Aubin 
 opened his eyes and at once struggled to arise. 
 
 "No, no! You must not try to move, Bruno," said 
 Alixe in a penitent tone. "You must forgive me." 
 Her tears rained down afresh and fell upon his fore- 
 head. "But you know how I must feel. Virginia 
 was my friend, my only friend, and that I should 
 lose her now, never, never to see her again." 
 
 " Alixe ! Alixe ! " cried Madame sharply. " Have 
 you no pity on the man? He must feel it as much 
 as you do. There! see what your selfishness has 
 done;" for he had again lost consciousness; "you 
 know how delicate Bruno has always been " 
 
 Valery, hearing the stir, had come out on to the 
 terrace. Quentin followed, hesitated, and then stood 
 still, feeling that this was a domestic matter in which 
 it was not his place to meddle. 
 
 " Hulloa ! " exclaimed Valery bustling up. " What's 
 the matter? Fainted? Well I'll be blessed by the 
 devil if I ever saw a man faint before." 
 
 St. Aubin had now opened his eyes again. He 
 saw only the face of Alixe bending anxiously above
 
 142 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 him. He rolled over and clutched her gown with 
 his dark fingers. He buried his head in the folds 
 of her sombre dress. 
 
 " Oh, Alixe ! " he cried aloud. " Can you forgive 
 me? Can you ever forgive me? " 
 
 "Forgive you for what, Bruno? It is you who 
 should forgive me." 
 
 "He has lost his wits." It was the voice of the 
 priest. " Get up, Bruno. Let me take you to the 
 chalet. Will you help me, Yalery? " 
 
 St. Aubin, sobered by the knowledge that he had 
 other listeners than Alixe, allowed himself to be 
 raised from the ground, and went toward his own 
 rooms, leaning on Valery and Father Halle. Alixe 
 arose and followed them slowlv.
 
 xrv. 
 
 Quentin could not repress a shudder of disgust at 
 the misshapen and loosely hung figure. He turned 
 away with a sigh that this should be the clog which 
 tied Alixe down and would keep her from happiness 
 as long as their lives should last. He was lounging 
 aimlessly toward the steps which led down to the 
 garden when Madame perceived him. Lord Eldon 
 had just left her, and had passed Quentin going into 
 the chateau. So soon as Lord Eldon had disap- 
 peared, Madame beckoned; Quentin went forward 
 at Madame's summons, and joining her, he seated 
 himself by her side on the bench beneath the great 
 oak tree. 
 
 "I must explain a little to you," said Madame 
 without preface. " I am sure that I know you well 
 enough to speak confidentially to you." She looked 
 affectionately into the eyes of her guest, and ended 
 with the words, " You dear !" 
 
 " That was an awkward scene and a very painful 
 one," she said. "I hardly know what to make of it. 
 I never noticed that Bruno cared particularly for Vir- 
 ginia Danielli. She was the friend of Alixe. They 
 were inseparable. She would not have left here but 
 that she had received a cable saying that her younger 
 brother was dying. He was in California. Dying, 
 they say, of consumption. Virginia herself did not
 
 144 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 look any too strong. I first suspected Bruno's fancy 
 for Virginia when I found that they had crossed in 
 the same steamer to England, or else that they had 
 met over there. I remember now, she didn't go to 
 Hamburg. The Daniellis joined the steamer at 
 Southampton. They say that Bruno was there, and 
 did his best to get them to wait over for the next 
 one, but they made all their arrangements very hur- 
 riedly, as you may imagine — Ada Spencer was the 
 first person who mentioned it to me " 
 
 "Mentioned what? " said Quentin shortly. 
 
 " Why, mentioned the suspicion she had of Bruno 
 and Virginia. Bruno hardly seemed to speak to her 
 here, Virginia, I mean " 
 
 "It seems ridiculous," began Quentin. 
 
 "Ah, my friend, one cannot control one's heart," 
 said Madame with a pointed look. 
 
 "And why should he?" asked Quentin sharply. 
 " With — with such a wife — a wife whom any man " 
 
 Madame flushed angrily. She looked at him 
 keenly. 
 
 "He, too!" she said to herself. Perhaps of all 
 Madame 's ephemeral fancies the one for Quentin had 
 been the most lasting. 
 
 "You must think us a queer household, my 
 friend," said Madame, raising her tone. "But I 
 must explain a little. Bruno was the son of my 
 sister." ' 
 
 "You had another sister, then? " asked Quentin. 
 
 "Yes," said Madame hastily. "My sisters were 
 both very much older than I." 
 
 Quentin' s quick mind began to reason. He saw 
 that, if Valery had spoken the truth, this would 
 make Madame seem as young as she chose to call 

 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 145 
 
 herself, but he crushed down these thoughts as dis- 
 loyal and listened as she continued. 
 
 " I have thought ever since you came that I must 
 explain to you why I feel so tenderly toward Bruno. 
 
 " There is no reason why you should explain any- 
 thing to me, dear Madame," said Quentin much 
 touched, for he saw signs of unaffected agitation 
 on the pretty features of his hostess. 
 
 "Yes, but I must. I wish you to know. It all 
 happened when I was so young. Almost a little 
 girl. I was devoted to the children. We all lived 
 in a great old-fashioned house. My father, Colonel 
 Gordon, wished us to be at home as much as pos- 
 sible. Bruno's father was a Spaniard. He was in 
 the diplomatic service. He was away at the time, 
 and my sister and her little boy were staying at The 
 Beeches." Madame ceased for a moment. She took 
 a filmy handkerchief from the bag at her side, and 
 dabbed her face underneath the white veil. 
 
 "Don't," said Quentin. "I cannot bear to see 
 you! There is no necessity for your telling me 
 anything painful." 
 
 Madame gave a long sigh. There was already al- 
 leviation in Quentin's tone. He had not spoken so 
 kindly since the evening of his arrival, All emo- 
 tions as well as all occurrences were subject to Ma- 
 dame's desire for appreciation on the part of her 
 friends, and she continued. " One day I was in the 
 nursery with the children. I was but little older 
 than Bruno." Quentin looked at Madame and could 
 readily believe her statement. "I was not very 
 strong then. He was a beautiful lad ! " Madame's 
 face was working convulsively. A tear rolled out of 
 10
 
 146 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 her eye and down upon the lace guimpe of her chic 
 morning gown. " I loved to take the child up in my 
 arms. I had been forbidden to do so. They said 
 that I should drop him, let him fall, that I should 
 injure my spine and injure him. I put my arms 
 round him, and he laid his head against my breast. 
 I started out of the nursery door. I would go into 
 my sister's room and show her how well I could 
 carry the child. Just as I got half way along that 
 dark hall, the nurse, who hated me, and whom I 
 detested, called sharply , ' Miss Annie ! what mischief 
 are you up to now?' I started. I was frightened. 
 I relaxed my hold of the little fellow. Oh ! I shall 
 never forget that moment. We were just at the head 
 of a flight of stairs leading down to the kitchen re- 
 gions. He fell from my arms, and down, down, to 
 the very foot of that long flight. The woman's words 
 forced exactly what she would have prevented. You 
 can imagine how my father felt, how my sister felt. 
 All medical skill was tried, but in vain. Beyond 
 saving his life and reason they did nothing. He 
 grew to manhood, just what you see him now, but 
 thank God! he has never known that it was I 
 
 who " 
 
 Madame ceased, unable to proceed. She buried 
 her face in the folds of her handkerchief, regardless 
 of injury to her complexion or newest veiling from 
 Yirot. For once, she was natural, and Quentin liked 
 her better than he had ever liked her before. Still 
 there was one thing that he must say — 
 
 " Yes, and yet you married your " 
 
 "I married my niece to him, yes." (Ah, Madame, 
 what a mixture of hypocrisy and honesty you were !) 
 "And why not? Bruno was more to me than any-
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 147 
 
 thing in the world. My whole life had been given 
 up to him. I had rained his. How better could I 
 have atoned? I thought to give the lad a fortune — 
 but alas! — well — well — His mother treated me to 
 the day of her death as if I had been an intentional 
 murderess ! Oh ! What I have suffered on account 
 of that child ! And how I love him ! Alixe has sup- 
 planted me with him as she has with — " she stopped, 
 her voice choked with sobs. "I thought she was 
 everything to him, but these strange fits of his are 
 recurring. I find they always overcome him when 
 he is greatly agitated. I have not credited that gos- 
 sip about Virginia Danielli before, but his words to 
 Alixe asking her to forgive him ! I am mystified, I 
 must confess. I cannot understand it at all. How- 
 ever, he might love any one so far as Alixe is con- 
 cerned. She has never been anything more to him 
 than — Yes, yes, Valery. They are calling me." 
 Madame rose hastily. "I will see you after break- 
 fast, or perhaps you had better come with me, they 
 may need some help. What is it? " she called. She 
 ran along the terrace, and disappeared within the 
 chalet arch. Quentin followed more slowly. At the 
 head of the stairs she stopped and beckoned to her 
 guest. "Come," she said, "come! I need some one 
 who is strong. I cannot bear the sight if he suffers 
 again." Quentin ran up the stairs and followed her 
 into the room. He had hardly set foot over the 
 door-sill when he heard the words, "We need no 
 strangers here." They were Father Halle's chilling 
 tones. " I begged him — " said Madame, but Quentin 
 had turned on his heel and was gone. His swift 
 glance round the room showed him St. Aubin lying 
 on the lounge, Alixe sitting by his side, her hand
 
 148 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 clasped closely within his own. It had also discov- 
 ered to him more than perhaps was intended for him 
 to see. He stepped across the landing at the priest's 
 inhospitable words, entered his own room and closed 
 the door. He sat down and thought long and per- 
 sistently. The more he pondered, the more confused 
 he became. He had heard so much of St. Aubin's 
 chemicals and experiments. Where were the retorts, 
 the colored liquids, the glass jars, used in chemistry ? 
 The powders, the tubes, and other insignia of the 
 science? Instead of any of these, his eyes had fallen 
 upon an open box. Here was a mass of machinery 
 which the bent of his mind toward mechanism had 
 taught him to appreciate and understand at a glance. 
 If the Count was making inventions it was not, so far 
 as Quentin had discovered, with the aid of chemicals. 
 There was a jar standing on the table, and upon it 
 the label, "Brown Powder." As to the box, it was 
 a mass of machinery upon which Halle had suddenly 
 closed the lid, at the same time saying quickly, " We 
 need no strangers here."
 
 XV. 
 
 That Valery was apt to speak his mind freely, 
 Quentin discovered a little later, when he said : 
 
 "I'm a good Catholic, and there is no one whom I 
 respect more than his Grace, and yet I must say that 
 I can't see what he has got to say about whom Alixe 
 shall or shall not have in her house." 
 
 "Was there really any reason for it?" asked 
 Quentin. 
 
 "He said that he had been unfrocked," answered 
 Valery, "but I imagine between you and me that 
 the Archbishop was a little too severe. Something 
 about Peter's pence, I believe. There had been some 
 defalcation. Halle made it good later, but that 
 wouldn't do. As long as he would not admit mak- 
 ing away with it, he should not have returned it." 
 
 " I wonder why Father Halle should have hidden 
 from the Archbishop, '* said Quentin, " if the family 
 were willing to have him here." 
 
 "Hum— ha! Did he hide? Looks bad, don't it? 
 Did he? Are you sure of it? " 
 
 "Quite sure," said Quentin, "but it is not my 
 business to talk about it. " 
 
 "I don't think Alixe believes the stories," said 
 Valery, after a pause. " But Halle was brought up 
 in the household. Mamasha adopted him, the child 
 of an old friend, I believe. In fact, Bruno cried for
 
 150 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 him, and Bruno had to have everything he wanted, 
 from the top brick of the chimney to Alixe, as you 
 see. Alixe thinks the punishment too severe for the 
 crime, even if there was any crime, and he, Halle, 
 protests to her that he knew nothing about it " 
 
 " And yet was willing to make that money good? " 
 
 "Yes, that's where they caught him. Looks bad, 
 but I really can't believe Bob guilty. Alixe and 
 Bruno and Bob played together as children. It's 
 rather a curious mixture. Mamasha is a good Cath- 
 olic, and would like to obey the Archbishop, but I 
 believe that next to her own soul, she loves Bruno, 
 and if she were to put Halle out of the house, Bruno 
 would never forgive her. There are wheels within 
 wheels, as you will find, Mr. Quentin, if you stay 
 long enough at l'Abbaye de Bref." 
 
 "He seems still to wear the priest's robe," said 
 Quentin. 
 
 "Propriety forbids that he should discard it," an- 
 swered Yalery, with a laugh. " I don't suppose he's 
 got anything under it. Poor devil ! " 
 
 There had been so much and so varied excitement 
 during the short time of Quentin' s stay, that he re- 
 joiced at the now prevailing quiet which the exodus 
 of the many guests had brought in its train. There 
 were remaining now only Madame Petrofsky, Alixe, 
 Gartha, Mademoiselle, and the Baroness, while in 
 the list of the stern sex he could discover no other 
 names than those of Lord Eldon, Yalery, the Count, 
 Father Halle, and Quentin himself. A household of 
 ten persons is not usually considered a very small 
 one, but the great house party which Madame had 
 been entertaining for some weeks past, and which, 
 while it was ever changing in its personal units, was
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 151 
 
 usually full as to numbers, made the great chateau 
 seem, by contrast, almost empty. 
 
 The breakfasting and dining al fresco were re- 
 sumed at Lord Eldon's desire, but that seemed to be 
 the only change worth noting. 
 
 Quentin would not listen to Madame 's persistent 
 request that he should remove his belongings to the 
 chateau. He felt a pride in sticking to his post, in 
 not being frightened away by a few draughts of wind 
 which he could explain, and the rappings and open- 
 ings of doors for which he could not so readily ac- 
 count, and he begged his hostess to allow him to 
 remain where he at first had been installed, until he 
 finally took his departure. 
 
 The time passed quietly. Billiards with Valery in 
 the morning, drives or walks with Madame when she 
 was not driving or walking with Lord Eldon, riding 
 with Valery and Gartha all about the roads of the 
 valley or the paths among the hills. Alixe had not 
 appeared since he had seen her sitting by St. Aubin's 
 side in the chalet room, and St. Aubin himself had 
 not been seen again, the priest being in constant at- 
 tendance upon him. 
 
 Toward the evening of the fourth day, Lord Eldon 
 came to Quentin as he was smoking his cigar in the 
 ruins. 
 
 "Mr. Quentin," he said, "I wish you to do me a 
 favor." He spoke with brisk confidence. The peer 
 was not accustomed to being refused a request. 
 
 "What is it?" said Quentin good-naturedly. Ho 
 had taken a fancy to this rosy little gentleman with 
 a face like a winter apple, and he thought that he 
 saw in him a valuable factor in solving a problem 
 whose complications somewhat annoyed him.
 
 152 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "I am very anxious," said Lord Eldon, "to sleep 
 for just one night in your rooms. I have never in 
 my life seen or heard a ghostly visitant. I have 
 endeavored to do so time out of mind. I always take 
 the side against the possibility of such an occurrence, 
 although we have a well-authenticated ghost at Eldon 
 Towers, but they never come within eyesight so far 
 as I am concerned. Now, I am going to ask you, 
 notwithstanding what St. Aubin said yesterday, to 
 let me spend the night in your rooms." 
 
 "I have not the most remote objection," said 
 Quentin, " only you must not let the Count find you 
 out. You are a much older friend here than I am, 
 
 but " 
 
 "We cannot exchange rooms very well," said Lord 
 Eldon, " unless you openly agree to it, and that you 
 seem determined not to do." 
 
 "No," said Quentin, "I am not to be frightened 
 away, but I am willing, if you prefer " 
 
 " Now, I have my own theory about these manifes- 
 tations," interrupted Lord Eldon, "and I want to 
 prove it without delay. I am of the opinion that 
 we two shall see whatever one alone would see, also 
 that I shall hear whatever you hear when I am not 
 with you." 
 
 "Very well," said Quentin. "But how do you 
 purpose managing it? " 
 
 "Why, this way." Lord Eldon sat down on a 
 great stone. " Give me a light, will you? " As Lord 
 Eldon puffed he unfolded his plans. "After every 
 one is asleep, I shall leave the chateau, go down the 
 steps into the flower garden, between the terrace and 
 the Abbey " 
 
 "Why?" asked Quentin. 

 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 153 
 
 Lord Eldon puffed slowly. .Then he took his cigar 
 from between his lips and laughed. 
 
 "I see that you are no conspirator," he said. "I 
 take that way simply because the soft earth paths 
 give forth no sound. I could not possibly get over 
 there from the chateau without my footsteps being 
 heard on the gravel. I shall walk along to where 
 the nuns' steps are built into the outer wall." 
 
 "I don't think I know the place," said Quentin. 
 
 " There is plenty to see in this old enclosure," com- 
 mented Lord Eldon. " Well, when I get there I shall 
 turn to come back, and will mount those far steps 
 which are at the very end of the terrace." 
 
 " I must go there some time," said Quentin, remem- 
 bering that Alixe and Gartha had appeared from that 
 direction on the first evening of his arrival. 
 
 " Yes, but not to-night. They will suspect some- 
 thing. You can't imagine how suspicious those two 
 men are," and Lord Eldon jerked his head in the 
 direction of the chalet. " When I get to the top of 
 the steps, I shall remove my bedroom slippers, which 
 I shall wear for this occasion only, and proceed the 
 rest of the way in stockinged feet." 
 
 ' You are more anxious than most persons to see 
 something supernatural," said Quentin, looking round 
 at Lord Eldon and smiling at his anxiety to make 
 himself uncomfortable. 
 
 "There, you know," proceeded Lord Eldon, "I 
 strike the terrace, but it is not gravelled very well 
 just at the end, so I shall make no noise, and in a 
 few moments I shall come to the little board walk 
 under the chalet windows." 
 
 "Just under the Count's rooms," said Quentin. 
 
 "Yes, but the balcony is overhead. From that
 
 154 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 moment on, I shall be concealed. Then up the chalet 
 stairs in a jiffy, and so into the haunted chamber. 
 Now, isn't that a fine plan? Your rooms are on the 
 right of the stairs, I believe. I wonder why they 
 never put me there? " 
 
 " Perhaps, as happened this time, the rooms were 
 always full," commented Quentin. 
 
 "The lantern is lighted, I suppose?" questioned 
 Lord Eldon. 
 
 "Yes, usually," said Quentin, "though it did go 
 out the other night, the night of my adventure." 
 
 " Ghost blew it out, I suppose," said the peer, smil- 
 ing broadly. "Now you leave your door unlocked, 
 do you hear? I shall go to bed early and get some 
 rest, and when I am least expected I shall be on hand. 
 When your door opens mysteriously, at the wee short 
 hours ayont the twal, don't be frightened out of your 
 wits; it will be only me." Lord Eldon's grammar, 
 like that of many an English gentleman, left some- 
 thing to be desired, but lapses in grammar do not 
 necessarily argue for lapses in courage. Quentin 
 agreed to this plan quite readily.
 
 XVI. 
 
 To liis surprise, when he went to dinner at the ring- 
 ing of the Abbey bell, he saw that Alixe had taken 
 her place at the end of the contracted table. She 
 spoke only to Garth a and ate little. When they had 
 assembled in the salon after dinner, he saw her tall 
 figure seated within the embrasure of a distant win- 
 dow. 
 
 As Quentin entered the room there was a crash of 
 music. Mademoiselle and the Baroness, both accom- 
 plished musicians, were filling the room with the 
 light-heartedness of the soul of Brahms as exemplified 
 in some of his gayest waltzes. The Baroness was at 
 the grand piano, Mademoiselle accompanying her at 
 the little upright. Quentin loved music and listened 
 delightedly. He seated himself in a deep armchair. 
 There were lights at the piano only, the rest of the 
 room being in semi-darkness. He glanced often to- 
 ward the tall figure silhouetted against the evening 
 sky. He did not approach her then. She seemed to 
 withdraw from every one, and he was not so bold as 
 to break in upon her solitude. 
 
 When Mademoiselle and the Baroness had played 
 until Madame had become a little impatent, she re- 
 placed them as an entertainer of the small company. 
 She gave, to Father Halle's accompaniment, some ex- 
 ceedingly florid vocalization in bravura style. St.
 
 156 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Aubin in his turn sang some Spanish songs in a sin- 
 gularly sweet tenor voice, which caused Quentin to 
 stare at him in amazement, and Valery roared out a 
 succession of hunting songs and some African ballads 
 until he was red in the face. He sang " The Poacher, " 
 "Drink, Puppy, Drink," and "Im Tiefen Keller," 
 with a ring and verve that were inspiriting. The one 
 discordant note was an English song by the Baroness, 
 which she called "The Loosed Cort." The title in 
 this instance was prophetic, as the singer ended her 
 song in a key a half-tone lower than that in which 
 she had begun. 
 
 "Beally, we make excellent music, do we not? " ex- 
 claimed Madame. "We must give a concert. We 
 can have a charity performance for the hospital over 
 in the village of Moncousis. Mr. Quentin, you sing, 
 I know. Come and try something, anything. Eobert 
 Halle can play all music at sight. " 
 
 But Quentin could not sing with that lonely figure 
 in view. He arose, saying, "I am not in voice this 
 evening, Madame." He walked slowly over toward 
 the window. He sang well, and the idea of singing 
 to the priest's accompaniment was not encouraging to 
 him. Halle played the piano, as most players of the 
 organ do, with a heaviness of touch, which was per- 
 haps made up for, in a measure, by his certainty and 
 method. 
 
 As Quentin approached the window, the tall figure 
 sitting there moved slightly, and withdrew her trail- 
 ing robe. He placed himself by her side, and looked 
 abroad upon the wonderful night. 
 
 Alixe was dressed in some soft black material whose 
 folds clung about her as she moved. She had dis- 
 carded her jewels, all but the silver chain with its
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 157 
 
 great cross of amethysts. Quentin saw that it hung 
 downward, hidden within the folds of her dress. He 
 sat silent, regarding the musicians. He saw that 
 Madame cast an occasional glance toward where he 
 sat by the side of Alixe. He saw, too, that Halle, as 
 he thumped out his accompaniment, often turned 
 quickly and looked over his shoulder through the 
 open door at his back, across the terrace, to the gate 
 beyond. 
 
 " Do you feel cold, Eobert? " asked Madame kindly. 
 
 " A little chilly now and then. It is nothing. Is 
 the gate open? " 
 
 "The gate is never open, Eobert; that you know 
 well: we are perfectly enclosed at the Abbey; but 
 why? " laughing. "Do you feel colder with the door 
 in the wall open when all the windows and doors are 
 flung wide, as you see? " 
 
 " Perhaps if the great doors were closed, there would 
 not be as much draught, " said the priest. But Ma- 
 dame gave no order this mild evening to shut out the 
 air. 
 
 She glanced once or or twice across the great ex- 
 panse of the interior toward the two figures in the 
 window. Then she walked over to where thev sat, 
 silent. Not a word had been spoken between them 
 since Quentin had seated himself. 
 
 "Alixe," said Madame, "why can't you play my 
 accompaniments? You know how Robert Halle ac- 
 companies. He thumps ' In Deinem Blauen Augen ' 
 as if he were playing the ' Stabat Mater. ' My voice 
 is completely lost." 
 
 " Do not ask me to play to-night," said Alixe. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " ejaculated Madame. " There 
 is no reason why you should not play to please me.
 
 158 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 We cannot mourn forever. Don't you know, Alixe, 
 that there is such a thing as being selfish in your 
 grief? " 
 
 ' Yes, " answered Alixe wearily. " I know there is. 
 I am very selfish, that I know well, but oh, Mama- 
 sha ! Let me be selfish for a little while longer." 
 
 Madame gave Quentin a glance eloquent of disap- 
 proval, and clicked back to the piano. 
 
 Quentin had heard the voice of Alixe only when 
 she had answered Madame. She had not spoken to 
 him. Nor did she speak to him now. 
 
 They sat, still, silent, as two ghosts. It was to 
 Quentin simply a companionship, which was sweeter 
 than the talk of crowds. 
 
 Suddenly the priest struck the opening chords of 
 the mad song from Lucia. So soon as the notes fell 
 upon her ear, Alixe arose hastily. She drew her 
 breath sharply. "Oh, do not sing that!" she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Absurd! Alixe," answered Madame sharply. 
 " Are we never to return to our own ways just be- 
 cause " 
 
 Alixe stood partly in the ray of the moon, partly in 
 shadow. 
 
 "Robert Halle," she said, in a tone of command 
 which Quentin had never heard from her before, " you 
 shall not play that song. Stop ! I order you. Any- 
 thing—anything else. I will not have it. It was the 
 
 last song that Virginia " Her voice broke and 
 
 she sat down hurriedly. 
 
 Halle without a word took the sheet of music from 
 the rack, and replaced it by another. 
 
 "I had better go away," said Alixe. Quentin did 
 not feel that she was speaking to him. It rather
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 159 
 
 seemed as if she were in a reverie. " I am only a 
 spoil-sport." As she spoke, she pushed the low 
 panelled seat outward and the long window swung 
 over the terrace. Quentin arose hastily. He fol- 
 lowed, and passed her by, perceiving where her path 
 lay.
 
 xvn. 
 
 He ran down the stairs ahead of her, which was a 
 fortunate move on his part, for in the darkness her 
 foot caught in an encroaching vine. He heard her 
 stumble, and before she should prevent, she had 
 fallen against him. He turned quickly, and caught 
 her in his arms. She drew back, so soon as she felt 
 the necessary resistance which his steadfast form 
 gave her, and stood upright. She gave a swift, sharp 
 sigh, and stood looking at him for a moment from 
 wide-open eyes, as if some secret thing had suddenly 
 been revealed to her. He saw but a glance. It was 
 to him but the look that perhaps a friendless child 
 might give to a kindly disposed elder person, but it 
 comforted Quentin in the many dark days that fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 They paced down toward the abbey. Quentin 
 talked hurriedly of indifferent things. Alixe was 
 silent. He did not know if she listened or no. As 
 they entered beneath the arch which opened the way 
 to the ruin, she stopped and faced him. 
 
 " Mr. Quentin," she said, " I ought to ask your par- 
 don for making Mamasha's guests so uncomfortable. 
 First my husband sends half of them off in a hurried 
 flight because of his poor harmless chemicals, and 
 then I annoy the rest of you because I cannot contain
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 161 
 
 my feelings. It — it is hard to learn to control one's 
 feelings, I find — to learn to forget — all at once." 
 
 They paced along the interior of the ruin, some- 
 times in deep shadow. The leaves which showed 
 above the top of the abbey wall, cast shadows across 
 her fair face. She walked the length of the enclosure 
 and seated herself upon a low, bent limb. It was 
 where Quentin remembered to have seen the gay bevy 
 on that first day at afternoon tea. How different 
 now ! There were no filmy lawns and gay colors, no 
 bright and saucy voices sending badinage from one 
 corner to the other. There was little light. The 
 angles of the building were dark and ghostly. Quen- 
 tin and Alixe were the only beings who occupied the 
 lonely enclosure. She was robed in deepest black ; 
 the waist of the gown came high and covered her 
 throat. Her arms were encased in long sleeves. The 
 only things about her that sent out a spark of light 
 were the amethyst cross hanging at her side from its 
 string of beads, and the glint of her fair hair with the 
 silver combs shining palely in the moonlight. 
 
 " I should like to talk to you a little, if I may. " 
 She looked at him inquiringly, almost pathetically. 
 It seemed as if she would say, " If I may not talk to 
 you, where can I turn? " Quentin said nothing. She 
 waiting for answer, saw permission in his eyes. 
 
 "The subject is tabooed within the chateau," she 
 began. "It is of Virginia Danielli that I would 
 speak. Mamasha says that it makes me cry and look 
 ugly, and indeed, she is right, so it does. No, do not 
 pay me a compliment, I beg of you. I know just how 
 it makes me look when I weep. It makes me really 
 ill. It convulses my whole being. I cry very sel- 
 dom. I have wept like this but two or three times in 
 11
 
 162 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 my whole life. Once when the dear old general died. 
 Ah ! Had he but lived ! The other times were " 
 
 She ceased. 
 
 Quentin did not ask when those times had been. 
 He thought that he could imagine. 
 
 "For some reason," continued Alixe, "it makes my 
 husband extremely agitated when I mention my friend 
 Virginia, and it is not to be wondered at. She was 
 here full of life and spirits so short a time ago ! And 
 I find that Kobert Halle feels almost as strongly about 
 it. Mamasha does not like it. She loves all gay and 
 bright things— Mamasha — " a sigh— "and I must 
 keep silent before her. I cannot cloud Gartha's life 
 with my sorrow. We have kept the fact from her. 
 
 And so " She looked up at him questioningly. 
 
 "May I tell you about Virginia? " 
 
 Quentin did not speak. He felt that words were 
 superfluous. He stretched out his hand and took 
 hers within his strong grasp. Alixe gave his a 
 friendly pressure and then withdrew her own, and 
 laid it by its fellow upon her sombre-hued knee. 
 
 "As a little child my life was particularly lonely," 
 she began. " I need not go into the reasons. (No, 
 thought Quentin, you need not, but I am beginning 
 to understand those reasons.) But that it was so, 
 is an unpleasant fact. Then, as an older girl, I was 
 obliged to do many things which were especially re- 
 pugnant to me." Quentin remembered Miss Spen- 
 cer's words about "those girls being hawked about 
 to half the capitals of Europe." 
 
 "Finally, in some of our wanderings, I met this 
 young girl Virginia. She was but a little older than 
 I. I was first attracted by her merry laugh, truly 
 the merriest laugh that ever I heard. It was conta-
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 183 
 
 gious. There was something within me that needed 
 and responded to just such a cheerful even nature. 
 She was always laughing, my Virginia. The first 
 thing in the morning you heard her sweet note ; it was 
 like the note of a bird. How often have I heard it 
 here in this very spot, where we are sitting — " she 
 broke off with a sad little laugh ; " but I don't know 
 why I should, after all, trouble you with all this, Mr. 
 Quentin. Like the needy knife grinder, I have no 
 story to tell. She was just sweet and lovely, and my 
 
 friend, my friend ! She was here " Alixe paused 
 
 and looked around at the darkened corners of the 
 walls of stone. " Can it be possible that she was here 
 only three weeks ago? Now they tell me that she is 
 gone; that I shall never see her more. How can I 
 believe it? How can I? Virginia dead! Virginia 
 dead ! " She paused 'for a few moments. Quentin 
 saw that her lips were moving, although no sound 
 came from them ; then in the stillness he heard the 
 dropping of a tear, then another. Alixe put her hand 
 to her face and brushed the tears away as a little child 
 might have done. 
 
 "It is nothing," she said. "It has grown to be a 
 habit. Do not mind. How can I tell you how lovely 
 she was? No words of mine could make you under- 
 stand it." She ceased. There was dead silence 
 within the cloistered ruin. Quentin did not seek to 
 break the spell. 
 
 'You know, Mr. Quentin, that there are some per- 
 sons with whom one cannot associate the thought of 
 death. Virginia was one of those. I should never 
 have imagined her dead. I could not, but for those 
 awful visions that pursue me at night. Connecting 
 Virginia with death seems to me absurd, incongruous.
 
 164 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Yet — yet— she comes to me; she comes to me at 
 night, always begging Bru— that is, my husband— to 
 help her. It is strange, that hallucination, and I 
 know it. She does not come asking aid of me. She 
 does not laugh any more, she does not smile, she only 
 raises appealing hands, and begs and prays to be saved 
 from that cold, dark death." Still Quentin did not 
 speak; he felt that this was simply the outpouring of 
 a heartbroken soul, and that he, as himself, played 
 little part in the matter. He was simply a receptacle, 
 little better than the empty air, but he was a listener, 
 and that is all that certain bereft creatures desire : 
 some one, any one who will listen. 
 
 Alixe sat looking up at the shifting clouds which 
 crossed and hid the moon at times, at others parted 
 to allow it to shine brightly forth. Sometimes the 
 light flooded her face. It was during one of these 
 moments that Quentin, still silent, still gazing upon 
 her, saw that her face assumed a rapt expression, and 
 that she began to speak, to whisper, her voice hardly 
 making itself heard above the gentle rustle of the 
 leaves of the old tree upon whose limb she was sit- 
 ting. The scene in the glade came back to him. 
 "The man is nothing to me," she had said. And 
 then again, "I shall probably see little of him." 
 Could that have been but a few days ago? Less than 
 a week? How much had come and gone since then! 
 Her tears were falling more slowly now. She with- 
 drew her eyes and rested her gaze on Quentin's. 
 
 " You are strong, " she said. " You are quiet. You 
 give me peace." 
 
 Quentin reached over and took her slim hands 
 again in his. He pressed them in his strong ones. 
 Then he released them. It was not much. It was to
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 165 
 
 last for a lifetime, for he knew now that this was to 
 be the thing of a lifetime with him. 
 
 "Thank you," said Alixe. "I should think that I 
 had cried away all my tears. Tears for Virginia. 
 Had you only seen her, Mr. Quentin, had you only 
 known her, you would understand. You have noticed 
 that picture above the grand piano. The picture of 
 Santa Barbara. That is Virginia to the life. Only she 
 was more simple, not so stilted as that lovely saint. 
 But she wore her hair just as that is worn. She was 
 always laughing at me for my untidyness. She will 
 never laugh at me, or with me, again." A silence for 
 a time during which there were strange rustlings 
 among the branches, and the sound of the dropping 
 to earth of bits of crumbling stone, the inevitable 
 wearing away of that ancient pile which must con- 
 tinue to crumble until it had vanished from human 
 ken. 
 
 " I saw her again last night, Mr. Quentin. I have 
 not told the others, no one but Bru — my husband. 
 Thej r laugh at my fancies. They say that I am al- 
 ways full of fancies. She was with me the whole 
 night through. Sometimes she walked with me, as 
 she used to do, her pretty hands in mine — she had 
 such pretty hands ! such little hands ! they felt so lost 
 in my great paw." 
 
 Quentin glanced at the long, slim hands lying in her 
 lap. There was no plump prettiness about them, but 
 they were handsome, refined hands, strong in char- 
 acter. " Sometimes she was hanging on my arm, as 
 in the old days, only three weeks ago, Mr. Quentin, 
 think of it ! Only three weeks ago ! Looking up in 
 my face, but never laughing. She never laughs any 
 more and her nature was always so joyous ! Virginia
 
 166 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 was the embodiment of joy. She was forever laugh- 
 ing. Then, again, I saw her sinking down, sinking 
 down in the dark waves, in the wide, black sea. She 
 was stretching out her arms, begging, praying to be 
 saved, but not to me. That was so strange. Not to 
 me, but to — to my husband, of all persons ! She did 
 not care for him nor he for her. I was her friend. 
 He often asked me when she was going away, as if he 
 did not wish her at the Abbey. I remember one very 
 strange thing. On the day when I told Count St. 
 Aubin that Virginia must sail in the next steamer, that 
 they had cabled her to do so, he behaved very unac- 
 countably. I have often wondered if he could have 
 had some premonition as to her coming fate. He 
 asked me why she could not remain over until the fol- 
 lowing week. He was himself starting at once for 
 Hamburg to take that very ship for Southampton. 
 It seems that Madame Danielli's man of business in 
 London had cabled her the news of her son's critical 
 condition. There were many persons going to Amer- 
 ica at that time, and it was the only steamer in which 
 he could get passage for them. I remember my hus- 
 band asking why they could not sail later, or earlier, 
 even. I have never been able to understand this, but 
 he knew how I loved Virginia, and if he had a pre- 
 monition, as I sometimes think, he was perhaps try- 
 ing to save me from this grief. Virginia was my one 
 friend. It is a great thing to have one friend, Mr. 
 Quentin." 
 
 Quentin made no answer. He did not offer her his 
 friendship. He had said all that he meant to say. 
 If she did not feel that he was her friend for all time, 
 no words of his could persuade her of the fact. 
 
 They sat on the branch of the old tree for a space.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 167 
 
 The sobs of Alixe grew less frequent ; there was oc- 
 casionally a long-drawn catching of the breath, but 
 she said no more. Suddenly the silence was broken 
 by the slight stumble of a foot and a smothered ex- 
 clamation. Quentin caught sight of the red spark of 
 a cigar at the old arched entrance to the ruin.
 
 xvni, 
 
 " Alixe," called a voice. " Alixe, where are you? " 
 
 It was St. Aubin's voice. 
 
 "Here, Bruno," she answered. "I am with Mr. 
 Quentin." 
 
 Quentin half arose. 
 
 "Do not get up," she said. "Bruno will find us." 
 She made no effort to rise, nor did she move fur- 
 ther away from Quentin, and he was obliged to admit 
 that she had been no nearer to him than convention- 
 ality allowed. Strange to say, he experienced a slight 
 feeling of irritation when she remained seated. There 
 was no secret between them, except perhaps that faint 
 pressure of her hands, and doubtless she would 
 frankly allude to it before this creature to whom she 
 was chained, and give Quentin an excellent oppor- 
 tunity for mortification. 
 
 " Come here," she called. " It is lovely here in the 
 abbey." She moved a little nearer Quentin, to give 
 St. Aubin a place to seat himself should he be so 
 minded. 
 
 St. Aubin came near, and glanced at them care- 
 lessly. He was evidently much preoccupied. 
 
 " Ghostly old ruin ! " he said, as h/b stumbled nearer 
 his wife. "How can you sit here a minute longer 
 than you have to? Do you know, Quentin, that you 
 are close to the oubliette where- ihey used fe '< confine
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 169 
 
 the nuns? That was when they did something worse 
 than usual; and the wall just behind you, that double 
 shell, where some of the stones have fallen down, is 
 the spot where two especially obstinate ones were im- 
 mured. I always expect to see their ghosts when I 
 am here after dark, which, however, is not often, I can 
 assure you." 
 
 " You will have little to dread if you see no other 
 ghosts than those, Bruno," said Alixe, rising and lay- 
 ing her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 St. Aubin started perceptibly. 
 
 " What is it, Bruno? Are you getting nervous, too? 
 How you tremble." 
 
 "It is nothing," said St. Aubin, shaking off her 
 hand. "You are always fancying something," he 
 added. There was the sound of voices growing near. 
 
 " There they come, " said St. Aubin. " Mamasha is 
 always uneasy for fear she lost her latest. Here we 
 are, Mamasha." 
 
 As St. Aubin spoke, several figures entered the ruin, 
 and, crossing the open space, joined those standing 
 there. Madame began to interrogate Quentin as to 
 how long he had been in the abbey church, if he did 
 not care for music, if he did not feel the chill of the 
 night air, when St. Aubin had joined them, and if he 
 did not find it terribly eerie out here in the ghostly 
 old ruins. 
 
 Quentin warded off these inquiries with forced 
 laughter. It deceived Madame, however, who looked 
 at him with scrutiny. It seemed to her that senti- 
 ment and he must now be strangers. While Madame 
 was plying him with her questions, St. Aubin had laid 
 his hand on the arm of Alixe, and had drawn her 
 along the interior of the abbey to the further doorway.
 
 170 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Here a grass-grown terrace above the tops of the an- 
 cient dungeons made a footway broad enough for two 
 persons to walk abreast. 
 
 "I wish to speak with you, Alixe," St. Aubin had 
 said in passing through the opening. 
 
 "Yes, Bruno," she answered gently. She followed 
 his lead, and together they began to pace up and down 
 outside the walls. Here they were screened from the 
 sight of those within the ruin. They were silent for 
 a while. Alixe, forgetful even that Bruno had said 
 that he had something to say to her, forgetful of all 
 but her own grief, asked no question as she walked 
 beside him. 
 
 "I wish to ask you a favor, Alixe," said St. Aubin. 
 
 She was looking abroad upon the misty fields sil- 
 vered by the moonlight, and did not answer. 
 
 "Alixe!" She started at the somewhat impatient 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes, Bruno," she said. 
 
 "I — I wish to ask you something," again repeated 
 St. Aubin. He stopped in his walk, hesitated, and 
 was silent. 
 
 Alixe had also stopped. "Well, Bruno," she said 
 again, " what is it? " 
 
 St. Aubin had turned toward the crumbling wall 
 and stood there pulling, almost unconscioushy, at a 
 dead vine, which, loosening in his hand, scattered its 
 withered leaves upon the ground. 
 
 " Do not do that, " said Alixe. " Do not ! " 
 
 He, unheeding, with a final great rip and jerk, tore 
 the vine from its holding. 
 
 " That is the vine that we planted together last year 
 — Virginia and I. I hoped that it might have lived." 
 
 "It is dead," said St. Aubin, stolidly.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 171 
 
 "Yes, I feared that it was dead yesterday, but I 
 meant to try to restore it. I thought that with care I 
 might. There was perhaps some little spark of life 
 remaining - 
 
 St. Aubin threw the trailing spray upon the ground. 
 " You can never make it live again, " he said. " You 
 cannot bring the dead back to life. That is an old 
 
 axiom." 
 
 Alixe shook her head slowly and sighed. 
 
 "I fear not," she said. "Not any more than my 
 love can bring her back to life — Virginia ! " 
 
 "Alixe," said St. Aubin impatiently, "how long 
 will you continue to harp on that one string? I for 
 one am tired of it." 
 
 " Harp on one string? You forget yourself, Bruno. 
 Harp on one string? I have not troubled you with 
 my grief ! The news is not so old to me that the ex- 
 pression of my sorrow can be called harping. Do 
 you not think that I am tired of it, too? Oh, so tired 
 of it ! And I must be tired of this dreadful fact for 
 all the years to come. Perhaps when I have mourned 
 Virginia for ten or twenty years, you may say " 
 
 "Well, let me hear no more of it, Alixe. I am 
 weary of it. You annoy every one. Grief for the 
 
 dead " St. Aubin stopped. He shuddered. " It 
 
 is chilly out here," he said. "I hate the place. 
 Grief for the dead cannot bring them back." Alixe 
 renewed her pacing. St. Aubin kept step beside her. 
 
 " There is just one thing that makes it the more 
 bitter, Bruno. I did not go with Virginia to the 
 steamer. She begged me to, and I refused. That is 
 the cause of my remorse. Did you ever feel remorse, 
 Bruno?" 
 
 Alixe did not say, "You would not allow it," or
 
 172 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "You objected so strenuously that I gave up my will 
 to yours," but St. Aubin answered sneeringly: 
 
 "And you are now trying to put the burden of that 
 also on me? " 
 
 "Also, Bruno! What do you mean? What else 
 have I ever tried to place to your blame? What have 
 I " 
 
 " No, no ! " said St. Aubin hastily. " I do not mean 
 that, Alixe, but it seems like a reproach to me. 
 Mamasha did not wish you to go, Gartha was ailing. 
 They were here alone, and I thought that you had 
 worn yourself out enough for the Daniellis — she 
 usurped my place, Virginia Danielli — she " 
 
 " She took no place but her own, " said Alixe. " She 
 was the first with me and ever will be. I accepted 
 your reasons," she added sadly, "but, oh, remorse is 
 a dreadful thing ! To feel that I refused the last re- 
 quest which she made of me ; that I might have gone 
 with her ; that I might have seen the last wave of her 
 hand — the last smile on her lips — the last " 
 
 " Cease ! " St. Aubin shouted in a voice of thunder, 
 and then perceiving the look of astonishment on her 
 face: "Pardon me," he said, in a softer tone, "but I 
 can bear no more. The Daniellis were my friends, 
 too, Alixe. It was a great shock to me| as well. I 
 would have prevented their going in that steamer if 
 I could have done so " 
 
 "Poor Bruno," said she apologetically. "I am, as 
 Mamasha says, a very selfish person." Alixe drew a 
 long sigh. " You could not have known that any ac- 
 cident would happen to that steamer. Poor Bruno ! " 
 She laid her hand upon his shoulder and looked down 
 into his face. "You must forgive me. You will, 
 Bruno? You will?"
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 173 
 
 St. Aubin, finding her in so soft a mood toward 
 him, broke in suddenly. 
 
 "I have something to ask of you." 
 
 "I am only waiting," answered Alixe with spirit- 
 less voice. "What is it? My grief has made me 
 thoughtless. Have I refused you anything that you 
 have asked for? " 
 
 St. Aubin thought of the late sale of two valuable 
 pieces of property, and answered with lowered head 
 and faint voice : " No. But this is something that I 
 have never asked before." 
 
 "Anything! anything that I can do for you; you 
 know very well that you have only to " 
 
 "I should like you," said St. Aubin, speaking very 
 fast, and in an almost inaudible tone of voice, " to let 
 me change my rooms in the chalet and come over to 
 the large house." 
 
 " Bruno ! " exclaimed Alixe in a low voice, " have 
 you seen anything, really? " 
 
 "Nonsense!" said St. Aubin. "I wish to come 
 
 over 
 
 "You will leave the chemicals behind, I suppose," 
 said Alixe, with the ghost of a smile. 
 
 " I wish to come over " 
 
 "And why not? I am sure you are as free of the 
 Abbey as I am myself. The place is yours as much 
 as mine. I have always told you that." 
 
 "You do not understand me, Alixe." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Yes, I do. You wish to change your 
 room and come over to the chateau. Will Bobert 
 change too? I suppose you will still keep the labo- 
 ratory " 
 
 " Halle can go to the devil ! " burst out St. Aubin in 
 a violent tone, and then: "Excuse me, Alixe, but
 
 174 THE AKCHBISHOP AKD THE LADY 
 
 you wilfully misunderstand me. Halle may go where 
 he pleases, but " 
 
 " Have you had a quarrel, then? " 
 
 " I am not talking of Halle. It is of myself I am 
 speaking. I wish to come to the chateau and take 
 the place that is mine by right." 
 
 St. Aubin stretched himself to the greatest height 
 that nature allowed and looked upward into the eyes 
 of his wife. 
 
 "Take the place?" Alixe gazed at the misshapen 
 creature before her. "I hardly understand you. 
 Are not the servants respectful? Have you any com- 
 plaint to make? I seldom give orders, as you know, 
 Bruno, but if you will tell Mamasha, she, as you 
 know, manages all, she will " 
 
 "You purposely misunderstand me," said St. Au- 
 bin in a harsh voice. " Look me in the face if you 
 please. You may be the Duchesse di Brazzia, your 
 foolish mother saw fit that you should keep that title 
 — but you are my wife, I am your husband. I have 
 
 been your husband in name for eighteen months " 
 
 He broke off and gazed searchingly in her face. " I 
 mean to come where you are, live where you do — I 
 mean " 
 
 "My rooms are fitted for me only," said Alixe 
 coldly. She drew away from him. " The Abbess's 
 chamber was never intended for more than one per- 
 son. Besides, I was promised " — she shrank further 
 away — " I was assured by my mother that it was my 
 fortune that you wanted, to continue your inventions ; 
 that I had so much that I ought to share it with you ; 
 that you could not accept it unless I became your 
 wife, but that all was to be as before. It was a very 
 matter-of-fact bargain. Why, we were playmates,
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 175 
 
 Bruno " — Alixe's voice was shaking — " playmates in 
 the old days. You are to me like a brother." She 
 stopped, choked; then resumed hurriedly: "Be- 
 sides, Bruno, look at me. I am living in another 
 world. The ghost of Virginia walks beside me the 
 whole night through — the whole night through ! She 
 weeps and winds her hands about my arm, and she 
 calls upon you to save her — to save her from those 
 black waves. Why should she call upon you, Bruno, 
 upon you? " 
 
 At these apparently innocent words, St. Aubin 
 stretched his long arms upward, his passion turned 
 all at once to rage. 
 
 "You devil! "he shouted. 
 
 He seized the girl by the shoulders and shook her 
 in his frenzy with the strength of a being who par- 
 takes somewhat of the nature of a dwarf. 
 
 "You devil! "he shouted again. " You beautiful, 
 innocent devil ! " he screamed hoarsely. " What do 
 you know? What do you suspect?" At these des- 
 perate words — 
 
 "What? What is it?" called Madame's voice. 
 "Are you hurt, Bruno? Are you ill? " 
 
 There were sounds of running feet. They found 
 Alixe standing as if turned to stone. St. Aubin had 
 fallen at her feet. He was clutching at the grass and 
 trembling as if in an ague, whether ill from some sud- 
 den sickness, or ill from anger, or from both, Madame 
 could not determine. She had had long experience 
 of Bruno's temper. 
 
 Alixe did not stoop to raise him, nor did she wait 
 to see what the outcome might be. With no further 
 look at his grovelling figure, she passed in through 
 the doorway, across the open space of the ruin, and
 
 176 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 out again beneath the curves of the arch, deaf to the 
 nervous cries of Madame or the loud orders from 
 Valery. She went with swift steps up the stone 
 stairs, across the strip of terrace and through the 
 salon, empty now, though still glittering with its 
 many brilliant lights. She mounted the circular 
 stair which led to the Abbess's chamber, and enter- 
 ing there, she closed and bolted the iron door of her 
 refuge, remnant of a century long dead, when a 
 woman's chamber needed to be her castle, and thus 
 she shut herself away from the strife of her world, 
 as the lady abbesses had often done in the olden 
 time. 
 
 Alixe walked the floor for many hours that night. 
 Virginia appeared to her no more. That sad pleas- 
 ure was ended. Suddenly Alixe felt that she was 
 warring with a much greater trouble — a living trouble. 
 She found herself face to face with a new difficulty. 
 Something had come to her which she had never ex- 
 pected or dreamed of. Why she should have hoped 
 for immunity from the common lot of women, it is 
 impossible to say. She found suddenly that she was 
 to be free no more than the rest of womankind. She 
 paced the room the long night through. When the 
 early dawn began to show itself upon the opposite 
 hill, she threw herself into the ancient prie-dieu which 
 had served the mother abbesses for ages, and there 
 she poured out her soul. She was not of the church 
 to which those good women had belonged, but she 
 was suffering as they may have suffered in days long 
 dead. Common sisterhood made them one. She 
 prayed, her face in her hands, the tears streaming 
 through her fingers. When her broken words ceased, 
 she still knelt there, more at peace than she had been
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 177 
 
 since the news of Virginia came to her, wondering 
 what she should do. 
 
 Quentin sat smoking within the seclusion of the 
 ruins for a long time after the others had left. The 
 wandering breezes of night made their presence known 
 by an occasional rustle overhead among the leaves, 
 which rose above the walls of the Abbey and so caught 
 the movements of the night air, but no spirit came to 
 disturb his reflections. He sat there in a dream, a 
 maze. He had awakened. He felt as if he had not 
 lived before, and yet such living was more painful 
 than the moribund state from which this new spirit 
 of life had called him. He pondered upon one sub- 
 ject only, and was lost in that. His thoughts were 
 futile and worse than useless, but they would not 
 down. So there were skeletons in this household, of 
 all households that he had ever known the most peace- 
 ful in appearance. Its name signified a quiet retreat, 
 which called up memories of past holiness and calm. 
 All had seemed as still as the surface of a pool en- 
 closed between high hills, a spot which no harsh 
 wind could ever search out to destroy its peace ; and 
 now he found that that smiling surface hid a boiling 
 cauldron which might bubble and foam into danger- 
 ous billows at any moment. In this sunny paradise, 
 then, serpents lurked in shadowy corners, there was a 
 worm gnawing at the heart of every fair flower. Here 
 ghosts walked not by night only, but stalked boldly 
 forth in the light of day, not the revenants of little 
 Gartha, but haunting shades, which made this lovely 
 woman's life a life of misery. 
 12
 
 XIX. 
 
 Quentin was aroused by the clear tone of the Abbey- 
 bell. It struck the half hour. Could it then be so 
 near midnight? He threw his cigar, which had gone 
 out while his thoughts burned fiercely enough to have 
 relighted it, into a corner, and rising he passed out 
 of the archway, walked slowly up through the arbor, 
 mounted the stone steps, and went along the terrace 
 toward the chalet. He ascended the stairs, entered 
 his room, changed his evening shoes for bedroom 
 slippers, and his cpat for a smoking jacket, and then 
 finding that sleep and he were at daggers drawn, he 
 pushed open the long French window and went out 
 on the narrow little balcony. Here he began to pace 
 to and fro. He mechanically lighted a cigar as he 
 walked up and down, up and down, in front of his 
 window, utterly lost in vain and perplexing surmises. 
 Unthinking, he extended his walk the length of the 
 balcony, oblivious that he might be encroaching upon 
 forbidden ground. He had nearly reached the end of 
 the veranda, when suddenly he was recalled to things 
 mundane by finding himself opposite an open win- 
 dow from which a light blazed forth. An involuntary 
 glance within, a flashlight picture as it were, showed 
 to him St. Aubin lying upon the bed, and the priest 
 at the window which gave upon the public road. 
 Halle's back was toward Quentin. He was leaning
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 179 
 
 out of the window, and seemed to be pulling at some 
 rather heavy weight with a hand-over-hand motion. 
 Quentin heard the words from St. Aubin, " Tell him 
 that you will meet him in the glade to-morrow, and 
 pay him, Bob; I have no money by me at present." 
 
 Quentin started back and turned himself about. 
 He knew that he had stumbled upon something which 
 was not intended either for his ears or eyes. That a 
 mystery was afoot, he felt certain, but that it had 
 nothing to do with him, of that he also was sure, and 
 he was convinced that whatever these two worthies 
 were planning, with regard to their midnight explora- 
 tions into the realms of science, that he, personally, 
 had nothing whatever to do with it. In the space of 
 a moment these thoughts had flashed through his 
 brain and he had at once faced about, but Halle had 
 turned for a moment to answer St. Aubin, and in that 
 moment he caught sight of an intruder. He released 
 his hold on the rope. There was a cry of pain from 
 some one underneath the outer wall, not heeding 
 which Halle came striding across the space between 
 the window and the balcony. His face had taken 
 on a paler cast than ever through the passion which 
 suddenly consumed him. Quentin did not know the 
 man ; he was transformed. St. Aubin sat up in the 
 bed, and stared at Quentin with'angry and astonished 
 eyes. Quentin did not retreat, as he felt that this was 
 no time for it. The priest's words rolled forth from 
 foam-flecked lips. 
 
 "So we have a spy among us — a spy among us! 
 Are you aware, Count " — turning to St. Aubin — ■ 
 " that this gentleman, who comes as a guest to the 
 Abbey, has been set, or has set himself, to spy upon 
 us?"
 
 180 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Quentin's astonished and indignant expression 
 showed St. Aubin at once that the priest had plunged 
 himself into a foolish mistake. 
 
 "Go easy, Bob," he said in excellent English, and 
 then, letting his gaze rest on the intruder : " Pardon 
 my saying to a guest of the chateau, Mr. Quentin, 
 that these rooms are private, and that when " 
 
 " A spy sent by His Grace ! " screamed Halle, shak- 
 ing his fist at Quentin. " You conceal your religion 
 underneath a Protestant cloak, sir, but I have had my 
 doubts of you, I have " 
 
 " Bob ! Bob ! don't be a fool ! " reiterated St. Aubin, 
 who was becoming more convinced each moment that 
 Quentin was there by accident and not by premedita- 
 tion. "You must excuse his words, Mr. Quentin; 
 you know that inventors guard their secrets very jeal- 
 ously, and Halle " 
 
 "You are right, Count St. Aubin," said Quentin, 
 whose face was becoming as white as the priest's. 
 " I came here quite by mistake ; I was thinking of — 
 of — other things ; I assure you that I am more than 
 sorry, and I apologize, Count, to you. As for Mr. 
 Halle, his methods of life seem to have made him 
 suspicious of the most careless and open actions in 
 all with whom he comes in contact. I am Madame 
 Petrofsky's guest. I shall be leaving soon ; but while 
 I am here I demand from you, as the master of this 
 house, respectful treatment at least, from this un- 
 frocked priest." 
 
 " There, Bob ! " said St. Aubin with a sardonic grin, 
 "see what you bring upon yourself." 
 
 Halle's face grew livid. He seized a chair by the 
 back, as if to hurl it in the air. Quentin, instead of 
 dodging behind the shelter of the wall, with a " Par-
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 181 
 
 don, Count," sprang into the room and threw himself 
 upon Halle and held him with a grip of iron. 
 
 The priest struggled to free himself. He might as 
 well have been a fish within a net. Quentin's train- 
 ing stood him in good stead, and he held this man, 
 as tall as himself, with the ease that is produced 
 in muscles which are strengthened by daily exer- 
 cise. 
 
 St. Aubin slipped from the bed to the floor and 
 stood facing the two. 
 
 ' You idiot ! " he said, apostrophising the priest. 
 " Mr. Quentin is, as I said, in the right. Why should 
 he care to become acquainted with our little inven- 
 tions? You see a discoverer in every shadow. It is 
 an automobile, Mr. Quentin, and I firmly believe that 
 persistent working over it in secret has driven Halle 
 mad. Yes, I do, Bob. He is afraid that some one 
 will steal the knowledge that we have gained by long 
 and faithful study. Apologize to Mr. Quentin at 
 once, you mild-mannered son of holy church." 
 
 Quentin did not let go his hold on the wrists of the 
 priest. 
 
 Halle stood writhing about and sulkily glaring de- 
 fiance, first at Quentin and then at St. Aubin. He 
 panted like an animal who has outrun his strength. 
 " He has dogged my steps ever since he has been 
 here, ever since he arrived," said the priest. "He 
 has followed me, and watched me, and spied upon me 
 until I have been convinced that he is in the pay of 
 the church to hound me to the gallows." 
 
 " The gallows ! " exclaimed St. Aubin in a shaking 
 voice. "Good God! Bob, what are you talking 
 about? Mr. Quentin, the man's mind is going. You 
 must pardon this madman, without further apology.
 
 182 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 I really believe that his troubles in the church have 
 crazed him." 
 
 "I do not think he is mad, Count," said Quentin. 
 And then looking Halle in the eye, with as insolent a 
 tone as he could command : " I did not know before 
 that stealing was a hanging matter in France — I 
 thought that it was nothing less than murder that " — 
 
 At these words the priest writhed desperately and 
 tried to escape from Quentin's grasp. He snarled 
 like an animal, and bent his head trying to bite with 
 his strong white teeth the wrists of the hands that 
 held him, but he was helpless as an infant in the 
 hands of this athlete. 
 
 "That is not fair, Mr. Quentin," said St. Aubin. 
 " Halle has been accused, it is true, but unjustly, as 
 my wife and I both " 
 
 " Be silent ! " shouted the priest. " For God's sake, 
 do not speak her name here." 
 
 Quentin felt more respect for the man at these 
 words than he had ever felt before. All the time 
 Halle was twisting, turning, and trying to look over 
 his shoulder, and dragging Quentin by these move- 
 ments a little nearer the table. Quentin, glancing in 
 that direction, saw that a convenient revolver lay ready 
 to hand. St. Aubin walked to the spot and took the 
 weapon from the table and into an inner room. He 
 returned in a moment and locked the door after him. 
 
 " This is new to me, " he said. " A madman like that 
 may do anything. Release him, Mr. Quentin ; I will 
 answer for his good behavior. Now, Bob — now, 
 Bob " 
 
 Quentin loosened his hands at once, but did not re- 
 treat from the near presence of the priest.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 183 
 
 " Mad ! " exclaimed Halle, raising one arm in the 
 air in denunciation. " And if I am mad, you know 
 who has driven me mad." He shook his clenched 
 hand in St. Aubin's face. " You know who has per- 
 suaded, and urged, and cajoled me, until I am as deep 
 in the mud as 3 r ou are in the mire. You know " 
 
 St. Aubin had stood regarding the priest with wide- 
 open eyes of astonishment. He broke in then, drown- 
 ing Halle's words with his own. 
 
 " Stop ! " he shouted. " Stop ! for God's sake, stop ! 
 Do you know what you are saying here, before this 
 stranger? " Halle closed his lips and bit them sav- 
 agely. "I knew you were queer," continued St. Au- 
 bin. " The knowledge has been growing upon me of 
 late, but upon my soul, Bob, I did not know that it 
 had come to this. If Mr. Quentin did not know us 
 all better, you might almost make frim think that we 
 are a band of thugs, plundering and murdering right 
 and left. You " 
 
 " And what else are " began the priest. 
 
 St. Aubin interrupted him quickly, shaking his 
 head sadly. 
 
 " To think of it ! " he said. " To think of it ! My 
 own old friend ! Mr. Quentin, go away now, if you 
 please. He will be right, I think, in a few moments, 
 and then no one will be as sorry as he." 
 
 "I do not like to leave you," hesitated Quentin, 
 looking at the priest, who still stood in the middle of 
 the room, his hand stretched forth in denunciation, 
 though the words seemed frozen upon his lips. 
 
 " Go, go ! " said St. Aubin. " I can manage him. 
 Go ! To please me, go ! " 
 
 Quentin, at St. Aubin's words, had stepped outside 
 the window.
 
 184 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Oh ! you can manage him. You ! " burst forth 
 Halle. " As you have managed him before, as you 
 are managing him now, as you will manage him until 
 you send his soul seething in wickedness, and rotting 
 in crime, to the hottest depths of " 
 
 " Really ! I have never known him so bad as this, " 
 said St. Aubin, with an anxious eye fixed upon the 
 priest. " I have never told any one ; I have kept him 
 from a maison de sante thus far, but " 
 
 "Had I not better remain?" hesitated Quentin. 
 "Shall I call for " 
 
 Halle broke the sentence by springing toward the 
 window with a panther-like leap, but St. Aubin, fear- 
 ing some injury to Quentin, was upon him. He 
 seized the priest from behind and wreathed his arms 
 about him and struggled with him, panting out the 
 words, "If — you will — only go — I can manage him." 
 St. Aubin's tone was so decided that Quentin reluct- 
 antly withdrew. As his retreating steps grew fainter, 
 St. Aubin released Halle, and with a quick whirl faced 
 the tall man about. He stood staring steadily at the 
 priest. His gaze seemed to intensify with each suc- 
 ceeding moment — to penetrate — to burn. Halle stood 
 rigid and stiff. He glared back at St. Aubin, at first 
 defiantly, but after a little his eye began to quail, his 
 glance to flicker and droop. A change came over 
 him. His figure seemed to relax. His arm, the de- 
 nunciatory arm, dropped by his side, he shivered, and 
 fell into, rather than seated himself in, a chair. 
 
 St. Aubin neither lowered his eyes nor changed his 
 attitude. He stood as if carved in marble. 
 
 " Look at me ! " he said. " Look at me ! " 
 
 He drew Halle's wavering eyes to his own and held 
 them there. Whenever they wandered, as if they
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 185 
 
 would steal away from the burning reproach of St. 
 Aubin's gaze, they were recalled by a something that 
 seemed to glow deep within that gaze, and which held 
 them whether they would or no. 
 
 St. Aubin finally began to speak. His words came 
 slowly forth with an intonation of such scathing, 
 probing sarcasm as caused the priest to quiver as if 
 he felt the cuts of a lash upon the bare skin. 
 
 "And this is the way in which you keep your 
 promises — your more than promises, your oaths, you 
 chicken-hearted dignitary of Mother Church, you 
 trustworthy ecclesiastic ! — oaths which, when broken, 
 place both our lives in jeopard}'. Is this the faith 
 that I can place in you? Is that the extent to which 
 I can rely upon you? You wretched weakling! 
 Hushing into the jaws of discovery and death, and 
 dragging me with you, just because an innocent vis- 
 itor at the chateau happens to stroll past the windows 
 here. The hangman's noose, indeed ! I can tell you, 
 you black-robed devil, that before I submit to the 
 hangman's noose at your behest, you shall be ad- 
 judged a lunatic by all the experts in France." 
 
 As St. Aubin proceeded, Halle half arose and drew 
 slowly toward him. He came like a dog fearful of 
 being beaten, his tall body bent, his attitude one of 
 cringing supplication. 
 
 " Stand off ! Do not approach me ! Do not touch 
 me ! A pretty friend you ! I thought that at least, 
 though you had no consideration for me, you might 
 have some for yourself. I thought " 
 
 But Halle was on the floor, kneeling and holding 
 to St. Aubin's feet. 
 
 " Cease, Bruno, cease ! I was mad, indeed, mad ! 
 mad 1 I see it now. What did I say ? What did I
 
 186 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 do? Some one came, did he not, to spy upon us? 
 Upon you and me ! Only a guest of the house, you 
 say? By accident, you say? If you knew in what 
 dread, what terror, I live day by day, night by night ! 
 I hear stealthy footsteps hunting me down. I hear 
 voices when I move along the terrace in the dark. 
 That night when I lurked in the wood, while the Arch- 
 bishop was at the chateau, I heard them all about 
 me. They say: 'There he goes! Seize him! Seize 
 him !' Even when I play ghost at your bidding, I am 
 afraid, afraid of myself, of my long shadow, which 
 sometimes creeps, creeps, before me, sometimes comes 
 behind. When I go up those dark steep stairs, I 
 hear footsteps other than my own. They walk beside 
 me, they rise tread by tread, as do my own, and while 
 I am haunting others, I myself am haunted. Do not 
 make me do it again, Bruno; do not make me do it 
 again." His voice had sunk into a whine. It was 
 as the whimper of a terrified child. 
 
 " Get up, you coward ! " said St. Aubin fiercely. 
 " You will do it again, when I order you. This very 
 night, if I say so. A fine assistant I chose to confide 
 in ! To aid me in my inventions, my inventions, do 
 you hear? My inventions! for that is all they are. 
 Get up and let me hear no more of this nonsense, or 
 I will have you locked up in a madhouse." There 
 was an ugly glitter in Halle's eye. "You will tell? 
 Then tell, and be damned to you ! " St. Aubin, short 
 in stature as he was, stood over the tumbled heap 
 beneath him. " Tell, I say, and be damned to you ! 
 "Who, do you think, will believe your stories, the sto- 
 ries of a dishonored and excommunicated priest, 
 against whom the Archbishop will be only too glad 
 to appear? Who do you think will believe the tales of
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 187 
 
 a wanderer and fugitive from holy church, against the 
 word of the Count St. Aubin, who is — who was — 
 through his wife, one of the richest nobles of France? " 
 As St. Aubin mentioned his wife's name, the priest 
 shivered as if he had been struck. 
 
 " Aye, cringe and shiver and cower ! You are too 
 deep within the toils to escape now. There is no way 
 out of it, any more than there is a way of escape from 
 the nethermost hell for your deep-dyed soul — your 
 deep-dyed soul — and — and — mine ! " 
 
 St. Aubin stood looking down at the shaking heap 
 before him. There was a convulsive sob. 
 
 " Crying, are you? " He gave the tortured creature 
 a kick with the toe of his patent leather shoe. " Get 
 up ! " he said. " Get up ! you sacerdotal sneak ! Do 
 you hear that brute howling under the window? It 
 is a wonder that he has not awakened the entire 
 house. Go and lower the rope down to him again, 
 and see that this time you do not let it slip, or I will 
 see to it that you play me no more such tricks." 
 
 When Quentin entered his room once more, he 
 found Lord Eldon sitting there, composedly smoking 
 his pipe and reading Figaro. He looked up as Quen- 
 tin came in through the open window. "I have 
 locked the door," he said, in a matter-of-fact busi- 
 ness tone, " and have been examining the premises, at 
 least so far as this room is concerned. At what time 
 do they usually appear? " 
 
 "I was disturbed about midnight," said Quentin, 
 " but I don't feel a,? if anything short of an earthquake 
 could wake me to-night. Where will you sleep? On 
 the lounge or in the bed? " 
 
 "I'll just throw myself down on the lounge," an- 
 swered the peer. ; ' You had better go to bed as usual.
 
 188 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Wliat was all that howling down in the road some 
 moments ago? I heard voices, too, but I was inter- 
 ested in " 
 
 " Something I had no business to mix myself up 
 in," said Quentin rather slowly. "It's getting late, 
 Lord Eldon. If we intend to give the ghosts the ghost 
 of a chance, we had better go to sleep and be prepared 
 to receive them. " Quentin laughed as he said this, 
 and going into the little dressing-room, he soon re- 
 appeared, ready for the night. "I thought that I 
 was tired," said he, "and somehow I am suddenly 
 unaccountably sleepy. Are you comfortable there? 
 Why not take my dressing gown? " 
 
 " Don't speak so loud," said Lord Eldon. " I don't 
 want them to know that I have broken the rule as to 
 apparitions." 
 
 "Are you comfortable? " again asked Quentin, this 
 time in a loud whisper. 
 
 "Right as rain," replied Lord Eldon as he settled 
 himself on the soft mattressed lounge. " Wake me if 
 you hear anything. Oh, by the way, don't you bolt 
 the door? " 
 
 As he spoke the little man rolled off the couch and 
 was at the door leading into the dressing-room. He 
 shot the bolt with a loud noise. "There! We're 
 right as trivets." He then threw himself upon the 
 lounge. "Now be sure you call me if you — you — 
 
 hear " The rest of the sentence was drowned in 
 
 a polite little snore, and Quentin was also soon in the 
 land of dreams.
 
 XX. 
 
 It was in that mysterious hour between midnight 
 and early morning, when all the world is still, that 
 Lord Eldon's easily awakened ear, anxious for the 
 summons, was greeted by a tapping upon the outer 
 door. He arose at once, delighted with the success 
 of his plan. Fearing greatly that he should hear a 
 voice that he knew, he called sharply : 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 There was no answer. This pleased him beyond 
 words to express. He hastily lighted a candle, whis- 
 pered to the still sleeping Quentin, " The enemy is 
 upon us," and went hastily toward the door. He 
 turned the key, which, heavy and old, grated in the 
 lock, and stuck for a moment persistently, but with a 
 remonstrant screech it finally gave in to superior force, 
 and Lord Eldon threw open the door to find the lan- 
 tern burning dimly, but giving out enough light to 
 show that no human or other being was present. He 
 stood there, rubicund and smiling, his joyous face 
 giving evidence that at last his life-long wish was 
 about to be realized. He was standing, looking 
 eagerly down the stairs, when he heard a fresh knock- 
 ing. This time it sounded within the room. Re- 
 entering and locking the door after him, he went back 
 to his couch and awaited further developments. 
 Either the sounds of the second knocking or else the 
 squeaking of the key had disturbed Quentin, and he
 
 190 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 sat up in bed half awake, calling out, as had Lord 
 Eldon, "Who is there?" 
 
 He had forgotten for a moment that his room held 
 another occupant than himself. 
 
 His guest stepped lightly to the bed. He placed 
 his plump hand over Quentin's mouth and whispered 
 in his ear : " Hush ! They have come at last. Get 
 up and let us watch together." 
 
 Quentin, fairly drunk with sleep, slid from his high 
 bed and joined Lord Eldon on the lounge. 
 
 "If the knocking comes again," said Lord Eldon, 
 "I want you to call out boldly, ' Who is there? ' 
 
 They sat, hardly breathing, each with his own the- 
 ory regarding the manifestations, and each anxious to 
 see what would happen next. 
 
 The moonlight was glinting palely in at the win- 
 dow, for it was just being quenched, so far as the 
 chalet was concerned, by the trees on the opposite 
 side of the valley. As the two investigators sat silent, 
 awaiting developments, there came three distinct raps 
 on the door leading into the dressing-room. Lord 
 Eldon started up as if to go toward it, but Quentin 
 held him in his place with a whispered, " Wait a mo- 
 ment." Then to Lord Eldon's surprise the door 
 which he had bolted swung quietly open. 
 
 " By ^heavens ! " he exclaimed aloud, at the same 
 time springing toward the doorway. There, nothing 
 rewarded his gaze. The room was dark, for the win- 
 dows were closed. He thought that he heard foot- 
 steps beyond him. 
 
 " Give me a light, Quentin," he whispered. Quen- 
 tin lighted a candle with which he had been careful to 
 supply himself, and together they passed through the 
 dressing-room and so on to the closet. Here a gust
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 191 
 
 of air pulsed upward, and Quentin fancied that he 
 heard the shuffle of a foot upon the stair. He ran to 
 the stair, and took a few steps downward, but it was 
 so pitch dark that he was obliged to call to his guest 
 to bring the light. This Lord Eldon at once did, but 
 upon examination the door at the foot of the stairs 
 was found to be securely fastened. 
 
 " Is it locked? " asked Lord Eldon. 
 
 "Yes," said he. 
 
 " Is the key in the lock? " 
 
 "No," said Quentin. 
 
 " Any one possessed of the key could easily enter 
 from the outside. Oh, dear ! Dear me ! There go 
 all my hopes ! " 
 
 " There is no doubt that any one possessed of the 
 key could enter from the outside, but how do you ac- 
 count for the opening of the door into my room? 
 You saw that door open, which I myself saw you 
 bolt." 
 
 "H — m— m — I forgot that," said the nobleman. 
 
 They retraced their steps, going through the dress- 
 ing-room into Quentin's bedroom. " Light some can- 
 dles," said Lord Eldon. 
 
 As Quentin had taken care to see that he had those 
 that would burn, the apartment was soon a blaze of 
 light, and seemed all at once to lose its mysterious 
 aspect, but this did not put a stop to the manifesta- 
 tions. There came a knock upon the outer door 
 again, which was followed by three or four heavy 
 blows. 
 
 "That is easily done," said Lord Eldon. "Oh, 
 dear ! Oh, dear ! My beautiful hope, that at last I 
 was to see or hear something supernatural, has flown. 
 There is nothing here that cannot be explained. Any
 
 192 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 one could do that— knock, I mean, and run down the 
 stairs, and away in the darkness, before you could 
 unlock the door. The key is bigger than the key of 
 the Bastile and grates as slowly in the lock." 
 
 " You forget the opening of the door. That has 
 still to be explained," said Quentin, who hated to 
 have his previous night's vigil ridiculed and set at 
 naught. 
 
 A gleam of pleasure lighted up the round face of 
 Lord Eldon. 
 
 " We still may find a mystery, " he said. He placed 
 his glasses securely on his nose and went over to the 
 door of the dressing-room. He took a candle from 
 the table, bent down, and scrutinized the fastening 
 carefully. "No hope," he said ruefully. "I sus- 
 pected as much." Quentin joined him, and together 
 they stood regarding the door, which, when it had 
 swung open, had carried the hasp and a square piece 
 of the frame of the doorway with it. That part to 
 which the socket for the bolt was attached had been 
 separated from the rest of the framework by having 
 been carefully sawed around, and when the door had 
 swung open, the whole thing had gone together. 
 
 There was a perceptible falling of Lord Eldon' s 
 rosy jaw. " What a disappointment ! " he exclaimed. 
 " You see that they counted on your being so terrified 
 that you would on no account approach that ghostly 
 door, and they thought, naturally, that when you had 
 been driven from the chalet by foul means, as fair 
 means would not accomplish it, they could restore it 
 to its former condition." 
 
 "They?" said Quentin, astounded. "Whom do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 " That I know no more than you."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 193 
 
 " But the motive. You must always look for a mo- 
 tive. What reason could any one have to play such 
 a trick on me? " 
 
 " Ah ! that remains to be discovered," said the Eng- 
 lishman. " It is very evident that they do not want 
 you in the chalet for some reason." 
 
 " What about the other night when I was here alone? 
 Could they do such a thing twice? " 
 
 "Nothing easier," said Lord Eldon. "Just fit the 
 block back again at the first chance. See here! 
 They've even oiled it so that it would slip easily. 
 Did you bolt the door the other night? " 
 
 "I don't remember," said Quentin. "But I be- 
 lieve I did." 
 
 "Who do you think is up to these tricks? " asked 
 his visitor. 
 
 " I hardly like to say. In the first place, as I told 
 you, I can see no reason for them." 
 
 "Do you suspect Madame?" asked Lord Eldon 
 with an anxious tone. He looked at the younger man 
 soberly and keenly as he spoke. 
 
 "Not in the least," said Quentin decidedly. Lord 
 Eldon smiled again. " I think she believes as thor- 
 oughly in a ghost of some sort over here in the chalet, 
 as you wish to believe yourself. Some one said that 
 she always puts a stranger over here that she may 
 procure undeniable proof that the visions do really 
 appear." 
 
 "Has any one ever seen an apparition?" asked 
 Lord Eldon, holding hopefully on to the last, to his 
 hopeless theory. 
 
 " I know nothing about that, " replied Quentin. " I 
 know only that I heard nothing the first night I slept 
 here, and though I have been disturbed since, it was 
 13
 
 194 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 no more than an unpleasant annoyance. I really 
 think, uncanny as it all was, my one desire was to 
 have the thumping stop that I might get some sleep. 
 There was one queer occurrence of which I have not 
 told you," he added, and Quentin then related to his 
 friend the circumstance of his finding the priest 
 asleep in the dressing-room, without, however, men- 
 tioning the part that Alixe played in the sequel on 
 the following morning. 
 
 " That is very easily explained, " said Lord Eldon. 
 "I am afraid we cannot conjure up any sort of mys- 
 tery. When that little brute, St. Aubin, goes away, 
 he carries the key to his side of the chalet, the rooms 
 across the landing. I have heard Madame complain 
 about not being able to get into the apartment to have 
 it cleaned until Bruno got back. The priest, finding 
 that he could not get into St. Aubin' s rooms, where 
 he always lodges when here, got the key and entered 
 from the outside. He is like one of the family, and 
 always has been, he " 
 
 " But why didn't he sleep in the chateau? " 
 
 "Didn't I hear that the Archbishop was here the 
 first evening? That would explain it to my satisfac- 
 tion." 
 
 " Yes, and to mine. The first words that I heard 
 him use were with regard to Halle's disgrace in the 
 church and his being an unfrocked priest. Madame, 
 being a good Catholic, would obey the Archbishop 
 to avoid trouble, though she is, in a way, fond of 
 Halle as St. Aubin's friend; and though the Duchess 
 may think that Halle is in no way to blame, she 
 would consult his feelings, and, moreover, she would 
 wish to prevent a scene in the house during His 
 Grace's visit. Halle himself probably had his rea-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 195 
 
 sons for keeping out of the way, and now that St. Au- 
 bin has returned, he can always find an asylum with 
 him." 
 
 The words asylum recalled to Quentin's mind the 
 reproaches which St. Aubin had hurled at Halle in 
 his presence. He sat lost in thought. After a few 
 moments he looked up at Lord Eldon. 
 
 "I feel like a conspirator," he said, "but I think I 
 shall have to tell you what I unwillingly heard last 
 evening. The priest is undoubtedly crazy and imag- 
 ines the most absurd things, as I think you will agree 
 with me when I have told you." He then repeated 
 to Lord Eldon all that had passed from the moment 
 when he was aroused from his reverie by finding him- 
 self close to St. Aubin's windows, until he returned to 
 his rooms and found his self-invited guest sitting 
 there. 
 
 " It does look as if the man was insane," said Lord 
 Eldon, " but if he is, St. Aubin has no right to keep 
 him here among these women. No one can answer 
 for such an individual. St. Aubin is certainly very 
 good to harbor him here, but he had better think of 
 his own safety, it seems to me. Some fine morning 
 we shall find him in that room with his throat cut, 
 for, from what you tell me, I can see that this priest, 
 in his moods, is capable of anything. He wishes for 
 some reason to make you vacate these rooms. You 
 would hear if St. Aubin cried out, and then you would 
 have to rush in, and in that way bring yourself up as 
 a witness in a very pretty murder case. If I were 
 you, Quentin, I would not sleep with the windows on 
 the balcony open; he is a dangerous fellow, that 
 priest ! To my certain knowledge, St. Aubin and the 
 family have been supporting him and defending him
 
 196 THE AKCHBISHOP AM) THE LADY 
 
 for years. What an ungrateful beast lie must 
 be." 
 
 " And those inventions " began Quentin. 
 
 "I don't wonder that you are suspicious," replied 
 the Englishman. " All these mysteries tend toward 
 that result, but there can be nothing harmful in a few 
 chemicals, so far as I know. St. Aubin has never en- 
 dangered any life but his own. Gartha's cat, I be- 
 lieve, is the single exception." 
 
 " Twice have I seen into the interior of those rooms, " 
 Quentin answered. " Unexpectedly, it is true, and on 
 both occasions the covers of certain boxes have been 
 closed quickly before my very eyes ; closed, too, on a 
 mass of clockwork and machinery." 
 
 " Nothing strange in that, Quentin. I have a ma- 
 chine shop myself. If you will come to Eldon Tow- 
 ers, as I hope you will a little later, for the shooting, 
 I will reward your best shots by showing you how far 
 my experiments have succeeded." 
 
 *" This is the 13th, isn't it? " asked Quentin. 
 
 " Yes, yes. I am late this year, it is true, but I 
 shan't be long now," said Lord Eldon. "Now as to 
 machinery, I believe you have some fancy that way 
 also, haven't you? Now, which do you consider the 
 best method on which to run an automobile, electricity 
 or gasoline? " 
 
 Thus led away from the subject in hand, Quentin 
 fell into a long discussion on the relative merits of the 
 two propelling agencies, which lasted until the sun 
 came pouring in at the windows above the roadway, 
 which Quentin threw open, and the priest and his 
 strange behavior were forgotten for a time. Not en- 
 tirely, however, as the following episode will show.
 
 XXI. 
 
 Lokd ELDON made himself as presentable as the cir- 
 cumstances would permit, and was about to leave the 
 chalet rooms to run down to the little river for a dip, 
 as some one came running up the stairs. It was St. 
 Aubin, who met him face to face. 
 
 "You, Eldon!" said he. "You nearly tumbled 
 me down again. You are making an early visit to 
 Quentin's rooms." 
 
 "I went there last night," answered Lord Eldon 
 imperturbably. "In fact, I spent the night in his 
 rooms." 
 
 "You spent the night there?" St. Aubin's face 
 flushed angrily, and then grew pale. 
 
 " Yes, I spent the night there. You know, St. Au- 
 bin, that I am an indefatigable seeker after knowledge 
 of a certain sort. I had heard of your nightly visit- 
 ants, and I wished to prove or disprove the tales by 
 the evidence of my own senses." 
 
 " So you left the rooms which my wife had pre- 
 pared for you," began St. Aubin in an angry, sarcastic 
 tone, which he changed almost at once on seeing Lord 
 Eldon' s haughty and astonished face. 
 
 " Pardon me, St. Aubin. I had no idea that there 
 was a mystery to maintain. I came over here merely 
 in the interest of sci " 
 
 "Nor is there any mystery to maintain, " broke in 
 St. Aubin. "It seems strange to me, however, that 
 two of our guests should conspire "
 
 198 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Conspire ! " exclaimed Lord Eldon indignantly. 
 " Where is the conspiracy? When one announces be- 
 forehand that he is going to sit up and watch for the 
 supernatural, he is certain to get it, and plenty of it. 
 I have tried that before. I nearly killed my younger 
 brother Ottley, who thought he would give me a 
 fright. No, no ! I wished to judge for myself, with- 
 out heralding my determination. " 
 
 "And were you satisfied? " questioned St. Aubin, 
 looking searchingly into the face of his guest. 
 
 " More than satisfied," replied Lord Eldon. " Come 
 and see." 
 
 " I saw Quentin going up the hill a half hour ago," 
 said St. Aubin as he turned into the room. "That 
 was the reason why I thought it strange to find you 
 here." 
 
 "Did you think I would run away with the tub or 
 the candles?" laughed Lord Eldon. "From Quen- 
 tin' s account the candles are not of much — ha! He 
 thought the rooms empty, no doubt! " This sudden 
 change of tone and subject was caused by the sight 
 which met his eyes, and which he indicated to his 
 host with outstretched hand. They halted in the 
 middle of the room, gazing at the priest, who was just 
 straightening his bent form from a close and obvi- 
 ously hurried scrutiny of the bolt, which should have 
 held the door in place. In his hand he held a screw- 
 driver, and as he started away from the neighborhood 
 of the door, the partly restored hasp swung out of 
 place and hung downward with a tell-tale rattle. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Lord Eldon, " evidently thought the 
 occupant gone ! " 
 
 St. Aubin turned on the priest with cold anger in 
 his look and tone.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 199 
 
 " What are you doing here? " he asked freezingly. 
 
 Halle stood, looking awkwardly at the two. 
 
 "I am breaking the eleventh commandment," he 
 answered with an attempt at bravado and the ghost 
 of a smile on his pale face. 
 
 'You are hopeless, Robert Halle," exclaimed St. 
 Aubin. "What business have you to tamper with 
 the doors of the chalet? Is there any reason for it? " 
 
 Halle turned sulkily away, muttering something 
 about always having been in the habit of repairing 
 the locks in the house. That he had started early on 
 his rounds 
 
 " May I ask how Father Halle got into this room? " 
 asked Lord Eldon. " He was not here when I left it 
 a few moments ago, and did not pass me on the stair." 
 
 "Through the window probably," said St. Aubin 
 carelessly. "Don't bother your head again about it, 
 Bob, while our guests remain. It is true, Eldon, he 
 is in the habit of repairing the locks. I had forgot- 
 ten that." There was a sudden rush of cold air from 
 the third room or closet which swept across the faces 
 of all three. 
 
 "I intend with your permission to probe this thing 
 to the bottom, St. Aubin," said Lord Eldon. "I 
 have seen so much now that " 
 
 " Your freedom is rather more than that of a guest," 
 began St. Aubin, but Lord Eldon had walked hastily 
 through the rooms and to the further staircase, from 
 which now a faint light shone. He ran down the 
 stairs and found the iron door at the bottom open the 
 width of a crack. The key was in the lock, but on 
 the outside. St. Aubin had followed him to the land- 
 ing. 
 
 Lord Eldon took the key from the outside of the
 
 200 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 door, placed it on the inside, turned it in the lock and 
 came hastily up the stairs. 
 
 " I can see no reason for Father Halle's trying to 
 deceive me, " he said facing St. Aubin angrily. " Why 
 didn't he answer my question truthfully? " 
 
 "Bruno," said the priest, "how long are you go- 
 ing to allow Lord Eldon to speak to me in that tone? 
 You said that I came in by the window. Is not that 
 enough? What does Lord Eldon suppose I want in 
 Mr. Quentin's rooms? Does he think that I wish to 
 steal some of Mr. Quentin's belongings? " 
 
 "Father Halle's previous record," began Lord El- 
 don, now thoroughly angry 
 
 " Go back to my rooms, Bob, " said St. Aubin, fear- 
 ing a more serious outbreak. " I insist. I will not 
 have any quarrel between you and Lord Eldon." 
 
 Halle turned on St. Aubin a resistent and defiant 
 stare. 
 
 " Go ! " said St. Aubin. He looked Halle steadily 
 in the face for a moment, and as he looked, the priest 
 began to waver, then his eyes fell, he dropped his 
 tools with a loud clang upon the floor, and facing 
 about, he went out of the room and across to the op- 
 posite chambers. Lord Eldon then closed and locked 
 the door. 
 
 "Now, St. Aubin," said he, "I wish to have this 
 out with you. Come over here. See there ! where 
 the bolt has been loosened by sawing round it. See 
 the marks of the chisel afresh in those screws." St. 
 Aubin followed his guest quickly across the tiled 
 floor. He knelt down and examined the marks of 
 which Lord Eldon spoke. 
 
 "Yes," he said reluctantly. "It is all true. The 
 man must be perfectly, insanely mad. I have thought
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 201 
 
 him queer for some time. He turns on me for the 
 slightest cause, perhaps some fancied wrong, and de- 
 nounces me to my face, and threatens to denounce me 
 to any or every one. I do not know what to do with 
 him. The poor fellow has no other home but this. 
 I really think that his troubles have unsettled his 
 mind." There was a knock at the door. Lord Eldon 
 opened it, whereupon he found Eugene standing on 
 the threshold. Eugene said that he had been sent by 
 Father Halle to say to Lord Eldon that Mr. Quen- 
 tin's sleeve links were quite safe. Eugene looked 
 puzzled as he delivered the sentence which he had 
 been empowered to repeat. 
 
 " That will do, Eugene," said St. Aubin, closing the 
 door. 
 
 Then turning to Lord Eldon: "The man is un- 
 doubtedly crazy. I cannot see what spite he has 
 against Mr. Quentin. A week ago he had never seen 
 him. I cannot think what fancied spite he has taken 
 against you. Of course I shall take the key of the 
 door, and bolt it well, but a lunatic will discover some 
 way to get into the room of a person whom he dislikes, 
 and I fear that I cannot be answerable for Mr. Q den- 
 tin's personal safety, if he persists in sleeping in the 
 chalet." 
 
 "And I should not be answerable for Father 
 Halle's," said Lord Eldon, laughing, " if he tried any 
 trick on Quentin. He is a capital shot, though fire- 
 arms do not enter into the subject under discussion. 
 He was the coach of the Harvard eleven, and one of 
 the crew which beat us over in England some years ago 
 in athletic sports. He comes highly recommended in 
 every way. I judge him to be a man of great courage 
 and spirit, and I should not advise Father Halle to
 
 202 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 annoy him too much ; he might pitch him out of the 
 window." 
 
 St. Aubin's face reddened. 
 
 " Then, too," continued Lord Eldon, " do you think 
 it right to keep such an irresponsible person about? " 
 
 St. Aubin tossed his head backward, as if to throw 
 off a feeling of irritation ; then he said : 
 
 "We must try to control him. We must watch 
 him. I should not like to send the poor fellow to a 
 maison de sante, but if it comes to the worst " 
 
 And they left the room together. 
 
 Lord Eldon started down the stairs. 
 
 " I am coming down in a moment," called St. Aubin 
 after his guest. " Breakfast must be ready." 
 
 St. Aubin watched Lord Eldon until he disap- 
 peared under the archway leading out to the terrace. 
 Then he crossed the small landing and opened the 
 door of his room. The priest sat in a chair by the 
 window looking out upon the road and the hillside. 
 His long body was doubled up and bent, his elbows 
 were on his knees, his head in his hands. 
 
 St. Aubin closed the door, and stood staring at the 
 tonsured head. Halle did not appear to have heard 
 his entrance. He did not look up. 
 
 "Well," said St. Aubin, "what have you to say for 
 yourself? " 
 
 The priest now raised his head, and sat regarding 
 St. Aubin with half-closed eyes, the lids of which 
 trembled visibly. Occasionally he cast them down, 
 then took a long breath, and, raising his head deter- 
 minedly, looked his tormentor in the face. 
 
 "What have you to say for yourself? " repeated St 
 Aubin. 
 
 There was silence for a time.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 203 
 
 "I asked you a question. Did you hear me? 
 What have you to say? " persisted St. Aubin. 
 
 Halle drew a sharp breath. Then he opened his 
 lips. At first no words came, though they seemed 
 to be struggling through some barrier. He cleared 
 his throat hoarsely, then said slowly : 
 
 "I told you in there," nodding to the rooms across 
 the hall. "I have broken the eleventh command- 
 ment—I have been found out." 
 
 "The only commandment you ever did break, I 
 suppose." The priest, at the sneer in St. Aubin's 
 tone, straightened himself and looked at him savagely. 
 
 "Bob," said St. Aubin, in such a tone as a judge 
 uses when he pronounces sentence, " you are getting 
 utterly unreliable. I fear that I cannot keep you here 
 longer. Only last evening I received a letter from 
 the Archbishop, saying he had heard that you were 
 about here again, and that he will denounce me if I 
 harbor you. You let yourself be seen outside. I 
 cannot be responsible for your mad acts or your mad- 
 der speeches. Why, after a time, if I allow you to 
 remain here, and say and do the things you say and 
 do, people will begin to think that I am really the 
 man that you try to make me out. They will begin 
 to believe that I, like some bewildering siren, have 
 actually beckoned you from the path of rectitude, 
 that I have lured you from the high plane of virtue, 
 not to say holiness; in fact, you will finally make 
 them believe that I am as utterly depraved as you are 
 yourself." At these words Halle dropped his head 
 between his hands. He spoke, and his words came 
 to St. Aubin in a sort of hoarse whispered ejaculation. 
 " Oh, my good Lord ! " he said. " Oh, my good 
 Lord!"
 
 204 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "He is not listening, Bob," said St. Aubin, with a 
 grin of malice. " Remember that you are no longer 
 a disciple of holy church; you are no longer her 
 pious, faithful son. You have the confidence of no 
 one. You have become a pariah, Robert, my some- 
 time friend; one who skulks along the by-paths of the 
 world, a creature who is afraid of his own shadow; 
 you have become that thing of scorn, an unfrocked 
 priest." 
 
 Halle again raised his head and looked at St. Au- 
 bin. Two words escaped his lips. " You devil ! " he 
 said, and then again, " You devil ! " 
 
 " Now, Bob, no heroics. Let me say once for all, 
 that if you cannot carry out my orders better than 
 you have of late, you may resign the position. When 
 Alixe knows all, all that I shall tell her, when I make 
 her understand, when I explain about Virginia Dani- 
 elli " 
 
 As St. Aubin began to speak, the priest interrupted 
 him with the words, "And what about yourself? " but 
 at the name of Alixe he fell upon the floor at St. Au- 
 bin 's feet. 
 
 " Mercy ! " he groaned. " Mercy ! Have mercy." 
 
 " It would do you no good to say that you will re- 
 taliate, Bob; as the children say, ' Tell on me.' " 
 
 "Have mercy, Bruno, I beg of you. Have a little 
 mercy. She is the only soul in the world for whom 
 I care ; her good opinion the only one for which I 
 seek." 
 
 " And you have gone a good way to work to get it. 
 Don't try the moral dodge, Bob," said St. Aubin 
 sneeringly. "Anything but a moral priest." 
 
 " I loved her long before you thought of loving her, 
 Bruno," continued Halle, unheeding the interruption.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 205 
 
 " When they made me a priest and cut me off from 
 the chance of ever telling her so, they cut me off from 
 all that earth held for me of heaven. She is the only 
 creature that I believe in. Her regard, her friendship 
 are all that keep me from confessing the truth — the 
 truth, not alone as it concerns me, Bruno, but as it 
 concerns us both. Do not push me too far" — the 
 man's voice broke — " do — not — push me too far, or I 
 shall confess ; I shall confess all, from the day when 
 I first met your hellish face, to the very moment, 
 when I, on my own behalf, come to declare the truth 
 about Virginia Danielli " 
 
 " It is high time that you took your departure for 
 an asylum, my friend," said St. Aubin coldly. He 
 stood looking down upon the wretch before him. 
 The priest's face was wet with streams of tears. He 
 was sobbing in his throat. "A maniac's cell is the 
 only place for you. The only thing to save you in 
 the eyes of those men is the suggestion that you are 
 insane." 
 
 As St. Aubin said the words, "Those men," he 
 nodded across the landing toward the rooms which 
 Quentin occupied. 
 
 "You will not say it to her — to Alixe, Bruno — 
 Bruno! Bruno, you will not." 
 
 " I shall wait and see how you behave. But no 
 more blundering, Father Halle. I warned you 
 against that wild plan, loosening that block every 
 evening, and screwing it up every morning. A stu- 
 pid, foolish plan. But you must perforce have your 
 own way, and now see what it brings upon you ! Now, 
 get up ! Get up, I say, from the floor, you drivelling 
 hound; haven't you any self-res " 
 
 There was a knock at the door.
 
 206 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Breakfast, Monsieur le Comte," said the voice of 
 Charles, 
 
 "Very well, in a moment," called St. Aubin in his 
 gayest tones. He turned to Halle. "Wash your 
 face, you heavenly innocent, and come down as if 
 nothing had happened. I shall make Quentin think 
 that you imagine yourself insulted by him. It will 
 be a devil of a job, but don't you spoil it by speaking 
 or trying to make any explanation, or it's all up with 
 us — with you, rather, for I do not intend to be ruined 
 in the eyes of any one by a priestly hireling, whom I 
 have fed and clothed and cared for since we were chil- 
 dren." As St. Aubin finished he ran out of the room, 
 slamming the door to behind him with a loud bang. 
 Halle sat and listened to his retreating footsteps. 
 His gaze was fixed moodily on the floor. He shook 
 his head tragically, as he gazed at one spot, uncon- 
 scious almost of what he was doing. " Since we were 
 children ! " he said. " Since we were children ! "
 
 xxn. 
 
 As St. Aubin came toward the recess where the out- 
 of-door meal was laid, he approached Madame with a 
 solemn face and said in a low voice : 
 
 " I am glad that the Baroness and Mademoiselle are 
 not down, Mamasha. Bob has been acting so 
 strangely. If it goes on much longer, we shall have 
 to put him under restraint, I fear." He turned to 
 Quentin. "You know that those who are insane al- 
 ways give a reason other than the real one for their 
 anger against a certain person or persons. Now, 
 Halle is very much incensed against you. He says 
 that it is because you stumbled upon his ridiculously 
 secret manner of getting his automobile apparatus into 
 the chalet, whereas the real reason is that he fancies 
 himself in love with my wife, and he sees in every 
 chance stranger a possible " 
 
 " Oh, Bruno ! Do not say such things ! What will 
 Mr. Quentin — " Alixe's voice died away, her face 
 was suffused with crimson. 
 
 " What bad taste, Bruno ! " said Madame. " How 
 can you? Are you losing your judgment? " 
 
 Quentin raised an angry glance to this man 
 who could take such an occasion to humiliate his 
 wife. 
 
 " It is all true, Mamasha. He now imagines that 
 Mr. Quentin is his rival and is plotting "
 
 208 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Poor Eobert ! " said Alixe, who had quickly re- 
 gained her self-possession, "and poor Mr. Quentin, 
 to' be the subject of such ridiculous conversation. 
 Should you not take him away, Bruno? I mean 
 Robert, Mr. Quentin, not you," said Alixe, smiling 
 and showing her white teeth, set in a point under her 
 short upper lip ; " take him to some expert, Bruno, 
 some expert in Paris, and see if there is really any- 
 thing the matter with his mind. Ah, Robert ! Here 
 you are! Come and sit by me. Coffee? Chocolate? 
 Or will you let me make you a cup of real English 
 tea? " 
 
 Halle looked the image of wretchedness. He 
 glanced furtively at Lord Eldon, who was sheltered 
 behind his newspaper deep in the latest news of the 
 Dreyfus scandal. 
 
 " What is the dernier mot with regard to 1' Affaire, 
 Lord Eldon? " asked Madame. 
 
 Halle glanced at Quentin, but his eyes were fixed 
 on Lord Eldon, as he listened to the want of testi- 
 mony in 1' Affaire. He glanced at St. Aubin, who had 
 turned and was calling gayly to Valery as he flashed 
 along the terrace: "Hulloa, you magnificent Rasta- 
 quouere ! Where do you manage to get all your fine 
 feathers? " 
 
 Gartha was hanging upon her father's arm, and 
 the laughter of the child and the hearty answering 
 shout of the gentleman, "From Africa, faith! 
 It isn't so much the feathers, me jool, as the way 
 in which you wear 'em," filled the morning air. 
 Every one turned to watch the approach of this 
 gorgeous person but the priest. He sank into a 
 chair at the side of Alixe, his attitude spiritless and 
 hopeless.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 209 
 
 "You angel!" he murmured under his breath. 
 "You dear angel. My saint! My saint! " 
 
 "Don't, Kobert," she said, gravely, as she gave 
 him a friendly clasp, which was quickly shortened, 
 as he saw fit to press her hand too closely within his 
 own. "You have been working too hard, Eobert. 
 We must have some excursions. They will be good 
 for you all. I have been selfish. Gartha, would you 
 like a picnic? Don't you remember our old picnics, 
 Eobert? We must think where to go, and decide 
 upon the day, must not we, little Gartha? " 
 
 Quentin could hardly repress an exclamation of dis- 
 gust as he saw her evident friendliness for the priest 
 in whom he had concluded that all the cardinal sins 
 had found refuge. 
 
 "You dear angel!" repeated Halle in a low tone. 
 "Rather than give you one moment's unhappiness I 
 would go away — " he broke off and bit his lip. A 
 tear-drop fell upon the hand which held out his cup 
 to him. Quentin, although he had withdrawn his 
 eyes, looked again, he could not help it; he was puz- 
 zled at what he saw on the face of the priest, and at 
 the wondering sadness in the eyes of Alixe. He heard 
 nothing of what they were saying, but it seemed to 
 him that she looked at her old playfellow with eyes 
 of pity, because she heard in his words, whatever they 
 might have been, but the ravings of an incipient mad- 
 man. 
 
 " But there is no question of giving unhappiness, 
 Robert," said Alixe gently. "I received the blow of 
 my life some days ago — last week, was it not? I can- 
 not remember. It seems ages ago that I heard that 
 dreadful news. I wanted only a little time before I 
 faced the world again. You are sorry for me, I know, 
 14
 
 210 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Robert. You would have prevented that sorrow com- 
 ing into my life could you have done so, that I also 
 know. " 
 
 Halle leaned toward her and said under his breath, 
 in agonized whispers : 
 
 " Oh, say that again, Alixe ; say that again ! " 
 
 "Yes, I will say it again if you wish, but that can 
 change nothing, Robert. These matters are not the 
 work of human agency ; " her tone was low and sol- 
 emn; "they are the acts of God. As such, we must 
 accept them and not complain." 
 
 Halle leaned nearer. He looked up into her face, as 
 an animal gazes upon a worshipped master. 
 
 "Alixe," he whispered eagerly, seemingly forget- 
 ful of every one but the woman before him, 
 "Alixe, I have a great mind to tell you — to confess to 
 vou " 
 
 "Bob! " It was St. Aubin's rasping voice, calling 
 from the further end of the table. " What are you 
 going into heroics about? You skeleton of religion, 
 you ghostly sham-expounder of the faith of holy 
 church ! You are not handsome enough, Bobby, dar- 
 ling, with your hollow eyes, and your lank figure, to 
 confess to the ladies. It takes a prelate like our friend 
 the Archbishop to " 
 
 Alixe broke hurriedly in upon St. Aubin's taunts. 
 
 "No, no, Robert," she said in a low tone, patting 
 kindly the hand of her old friend. She felt that his 
 mind, never very strong, must have been temporarily 
 unhinged by his troubles, troubles which he fancied 
 greater than they were. The Archbishop might warn 
 them all against him, and she valued the Archbishop's 
 opinion, no one's more; but he could not force her to 
 desert her old playmate or to make her believe that
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 211 
 
 he had erred intentionally. " Come here, little Gar- 
 tha," she called, " and tell me where you would like to 
 go for our picnic." She smiled at the child, although 
 her face seemed now to wear a settled mask of sad- 
 ness. Gartha left her father and danced gayly up to 
 Alixe. Quentin glanced at the priest. He sat look- 
 ing at his untasted cup and gnawing his thin under lip.
 
 xxm. 
 
 Quentin did not see anything of Alixe for some days. 
 After that one appearance at breakfast, she kept to 
 her own room very closely. The only answer that 
 Quentin got from any one, when he asked each day 
 as to the state of her health, was that she had a slight 
 cold. He wondered if anything more serious kept 
 her away from the circle gathered under her roof, and 
 whether her malady were physical or mental. 
 
 Meanwhile Madame, the ever-perennial, divided her 
 attentions between Quentin and Lord Eldon, taking 
 first one and then the other on exploring expeditions 
 among the hills and valleys that surrounded the fav- 
 ored situation of l'Abbaye de Bref. Quentin saw 
 Lord Eldon depart for his first drive with Madame 
 with a subdued smile upon his lips. He had driven 
 with her on the day previous, and the sauce for one 
 goose seemed to be flavored in exactly the same manner 
 and served up just as delicately as for the other. 
 Quentin felt pretty sure that he knew just the sweet 
 little starts and surprised exclamations to which 
 Madame was treating Lord Eldon, and he wondered 
 with a strange feeling somewhat akin to jealousy if 
 the starts and exclamations were any sweeter or more 
 frequent in the case of the one than of the other — the 
 one being the British peer, the other himself. 
 
 Madame was an extremely attractive woman, of that 
 there was not the very slightest doubt. She was in 
 appearance much younger than her years. She wore
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 213 
 
 a high pleated lace close about her throat at the spot 
 where age the soonest asserts itself. Upon her pretty 
 blonde head she wore a dainty round hat with frills of 
 white mousseline de soie, and, enveloping this, a vol- 
 uminous white veil, upon which many bouquets of 
 flowers and numerous vines and scriggles wandered, 
 concealing any incipient wrinkle which might be 
 growing more pronounced upon her fine skin. Her 
 face was so concealed that, but for the occasional flash 
 of her really handsome eyes and the tender pleading 
 of her affectionate voice, one would hardly have recog- 
 nized this feminine Jehu who sat so upright in the lit- 
 tle phaeton and drove the spirited horses with the skill 
 of an Englishwoman. One must not reckon without 
 Madame' s youthful figure. If not so tall as Alixe, 
 she held herself straighter, perhaps, because of that, 
 and when one looked for the initial time on what 
 Miss Spencer had called "Mamasha's phenomenal 
 back," one knew not whether the face which he would 
 shortly behold would be that of a young girl or a face 
 which had charmed its admirers for more than two- 
 score years. 
 
 Both Quentin and Lord Eldon had been persuaded 
 to extend the length of their visits. To Quentin the 
 place and its surroundings were of a growing fascina- 
 tion, and every day found him more unwilling to leave 
 them. Lord Eldon also seemed content to remain. 
 So, with the exception of Valery, the house party had 
 not changed since the exodus on the second day of 
 Quentin's stay. Both men thought that they had 
 solved the mystery of the nightly visitants. There 
 was still a show of keeping up the knockings, but as 
 they came now either directly underneath Quentin's 
 room, or on his outer door, he felt quite sure that
 
 214 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 they had been of the priest's designing, for since the 
 door at the foot of the stairs had been locked, and 
 Lord Eldon had hidden the key, no one knew where, 
 the dressing room and the little closet had echoed no 
 more to the fall of ghostly footsteps. The two men 
 gave Halle the coldest nods of recognition when they 
 met him. Sometimes this was not for a day or two. 
 The man seemed to disappear. He was seldom at the 
 table, and but for the occasional flutter of his black robe 
 in the distance, or upon the chalet stair, he seemed to 
 have vanished entirely from the life of the chateau. 
 
 It was on the second day after the withdrawal of 
 Alixe to her own rooms that Madame had started out 
 for her alternate flirtation with Lord Eldon. It mat- 
 tered not so much to Madame (and this Quentin, with 
 a lingering feeling of pride in her attentions to him- 
 self, was obliged to confess to his inmost soul) who 
 was the object of her ephemeral devotion. The affec- 
 tion always sprang full-fledged from a breast where it 
 was ever Spring. Her eyes always told the alternate 
 that he and he alone was the chosen recipient of that 
 affection. 
 
 St. Aubin had withdrawn to his own rooms, leav- 
 ing Quentin to discuss the comparative merits of sin- 
 gle stitch and cross stitch with the Baroness, who 
 was engaged in making (so she informed Quentin) a 
 reproduction of the Bayeux tapestry. After having 
 admired, ad nauseam, the fiftieth sketch of the Ab- 
 bey, done by Mademoiselle, which was perhaps less 
 like it than any of its predecessors, he got up and 
 strolled away, hardly knowing what to do with himself, 
 until his fair-and-forty enslaver should return and 
 deal out to him the remaining dregs of affection which 
 she had not dribbled away upon the British peer.
 
 XXIY. 
 
 As Quentin lounged along, cigar alight, hands in 
 pockets, he found himself at the end of the terrace 
 and at the top of a flight of steps which he had not 
 seen before. He descended the steps and, as he 
 walked, trying to reason out in his beclouded mind 
 many a perplexing surmise, he heard a voice call- 
 ing to him. It came from above his head. Quen- 
 tin stopped and looked upward. Gartha was perched 
 on the top of the wall under the shadow of a large 
 tree which stood some distance back from the boun- 
 dary of the domain, its sweeping branches, however, 
 throwing a delightful shade across the child's posi- 
 tion. 
 
 "Come up here, Mr. Quentin," called Gartha. 
 
 "How shall I get up there? " asked Quentin, noth- 
 ing loath, but seeing no way to manage it. " How 
 did you get there? " 
 
 "Easily enough," answered Gartha. "Go on a lit- 
 tle way and you will find the escalier — stairs, I mean. 
 It is so hard not to speak it, is it not, Mr. Quentin? " 
 
 Quentin laughed as he walked onward. In a mo- 
 ment he came to a small flight of stone steps, built 
 against the inner side of the wall. They were so nar- 
 row that he was forced to plant one foot carefully be- 
 fore the other in ascending. Once or twice he was in 
 danger of losing his balance, at which Gartha laughed 
 aloud unfeelingly.
 
 216 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " I do not wish you to fall, Mr. Quentin ; yet nom de 
 Dieu ! 9a me ferait beaucoup de plaisir ! " called the 
 child. "Valery once tried to get up here, but his 
 figure would not allow it. O ! Voila ! O, mon Dieu ! 
 Q'est epatant!" This because Quentin, in locking 
 upward, had lost his balance, and was forced to spring 
 to the ground. 
 
 " That's a very contradictory statement," said Quen- 
 tin, smiling gayly up at her. " Now you may laugh 
 as much as you please, I shall be up there in two 
 minutes." 
 
 "Do you recognize this spot? " asked Gartha as he 
 seated himself by her side on the tiled roof of the 
 wall. 
 
 "Yes," answered Quentin, "I think so. Isn't this 
 the very place where you and I first made acquaint- 
 ance with each other? " 
 
 " Yes, it is the very spot, and there is a little porte — 
 door, I mean — along there near the foot of the steps, 
 where Alixe came in that night, when she was calling 
 me, you know, after meeting with that horrid Father 
 Halle." 
 
 " Then you don't like Father Halle." 
 
 " Ah, bah, non ! I am on His Grace's side. I am a 
 Catholic child, but if I was not, Mr. Quentin, don't 
 you think any one would nat-nat-naturally love His 
 Grace and hate Robert Halle? " 
 
 "Well," said Quentin, smiling down on the thin, 
 eager face, " I don't know that I should love or hate 
 either one. I shouldn't take enough interest. You 
 use strong language for so small a girl." 
 
 Gartha plumed herself and raised her head like a 
 young turkey. 
 
 " Yes, that is what they all say, I have very decided
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 217 
 
 con — con-victions. Then you don't like my dear 
 Archbishop? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I do ! I like His Grace immensely, but 
 as to loving him, I leave that to the ladies." 
 
 " Mamasha loves him, I am certain. I believe if he 
 was not a sacerdotal she would marry him on the first 
 occasion." 
 
 Quentin experienced that slight feeling of sinkage 
 about the region of the heart which results to mortals 
 when they discover that they alone have not uncon- 
 trolled possession of a certain well-spring of affection, 
 fatal as such possession may be. 
 
 'You must not talk so about Madame Petrofsky," 
 said Quentin loyally, in as severe a voice as he could 
 muster, " or about the Archbishop either. Little girls 
 should " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know, saw and not heard ; but if I must 
 not be saw or heard, I have saw and heard for my 
 own self." 
 
 " How old are you? " asked Quentin. 
 
 "I'm nearly seven," said Gartha, pressing her lips 
 together with a self-conscious air; " but, then, I'm ex- 
 tremely pre— pre— what is it lam, Mr. Quentin?" 
 
 "Precocious? " asked Quentin with becoming grav- 
 ity. 
 
 ' Yes ; that is what Mr. le Maurier said. Did you 
 ever see Mamasha hang on to His Emnunce's hand? 
 The big one with the ring on it." 
 
 " I don't know any His Eminence," replied Quentin. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do. It's the Archbishop; but I 
 think he ought to be a cardinal, so I called him His 
 Emnunce. One day when the Cardinal came to see 
 us in Paris I called him Your Grace, and Mamasha 
 sent me to bed for it. She never hung on to the Car-
 
 218 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 dinal's hand. He is much too old for the vanities of 
 this life, Marie Monrouge says ; but I saw her go to 
 kiss the Archbishop's hand one day, and she said, 
 'You dear!' And the queer thing was My Emnunce 
 did not seem to be at all gene about it. You see, the 
 Cardinal is a person qu'on ne peut pas tromper." 
 
 " Where does this road lead to? " asked Quentin, in- 
 dicating the highway which ran at the foot of the wall. 
 
 "I do not know. What do you think Eobert Halle 
 wanted with Alixe that night? " 
 
 Quentin put on his most severe expression. " Had 
 your aunt wished us to know," he said, "she would 
 have told us ; as she did not " 
 
 " It was only to give Eobert the key to the west 
 wing of the chalet. She told me so. " 
 
 "And you are telling me; that is very wrong, "said 
 Quentin, secretly delighted that Alixe had made no 
 mystery of her actions to the child. 
 
 " She said — I mean Alixe — that poor Kobert had 
 been hounded by the church, and had not where to 
 lay his head. That's in the prayer-book, is it not, 
 Mr. Quentin? And she said that if Uncle Bruno- 
 how I hate my Uncle Bruno ! She said that if Uncle 
 Bruno were here he would give him a pied-a-terre un- 
 til the trouble had blown over. When will the trouble 
 blow over, Mr. Quentin?" 
 
 "How do I know, Gartha? Do you know that you 
 are a very naughty little girl to repeat this to me? If 
 your aunt wished me to know it, she " 
 
 " I have not told it to any one else, and I know you 
 will not," said Gartha. "What is it Ada Spencer 
 says? Oh, yes! Give me away! She says that is 
 pure American. What nice things one can say in 
 American. I know very much of American, Mr.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 219 
 
 Quentin. I know 'a perfect jay ' and 'straight as a 
 string.' Harry Ware taught me of those." 
 
 "And who is Harry Ware? " asked Quentin. "It 
 seems to me that I hear of some new acquaintance of 
 yours every day." 
 
 " Oh, he's another of Mamasha's. He said she had 
 him straight as a string and he felt like thirty-nine 
 cents. Did you ever feel like thirty-nine cents, Mr. 
 Quentin? (Quelle est la monnaie de cuivre en Angle- 
 terre — I mean is the thirty-nine cents of that money 
 of copper?) " 
 
 "No," said Quentin, "I don't think I ever did." 
 
 " When I asked Alixe what it meant, she said that 
 he could not be of our set. When I asked Valery, he 
 said he must be an outsider. When I asked Made- 
 moiselle what it meant to feel like thirty -nine cents, 
 she said it was a prix fixe. It was just like throwing 
 off the louis, the franc, or the centime. The Weasel 
 said she thought Harry Ware must be a commis voy- 
 ageur. I asked Harry Ware if he was — a commis voy- 
 ageur, I mean — and he gave me a blow of the eye, and 
 said no, he did not think so. Valery said I was 
 speaking the Greek to him. How could I speak the 
 Greek to Harry Ware? I cannot speak the Greek to 
 any one else. Valery said that if I had asked him if 
 he was a bummer, no, I mean drummer, he would 
 have understood me. Harry Ware was lovely ! He 
 had some sort of strange, flat boxes in his rooms, and 
 one day when I was visiting him " — Quentin drew his 
 breath at this astounding confession — " he opened one 
 and gave me some lovely square bits of cloth. He 
 gave them for my dolls." 
 
 " Stop a moment. Let me ask you how you came 
 to be visiting Mr. Harry Ware? "
 
 220 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Oil, mon Dieu ! Do you not know that lie had 
 your apartments in the chalet? Alixe was in Paris. 
 She scolded me well when she came back. Mamasha 
 was walking with Monsieur le Maurier and " 
 
 "Well, go on," said Quentin impatiently, "go on!" 
 
 " He told me many strange stories of his adventures. 
 He said that once a man gave him a box full of choco- 
 late. He called it a trunk. I thought that only ele- 
 phants was possessed with trunks, Mr. Quentin ; and 
 he paid Harry Ware's expenses, the man that gave 
 the chocolate did, to Mon Keal. " Gartha meant Mon- 
 treal. "Where is Mon Eeal, Mr. Quentin?" Not 
 waiting for a reply : " And he got hungry, Harry Ware 
 did. He said food was scarce. How could food be 
 scarce? I never knew of food that it was scarce, Mr. 
 Quentin ! And he ate up all the chocolate ; and he 
 said they had not seen him since. When he said 
 that he laughed very loud and gave some coup of the 
 foot, so, on the gravel, flat ! He danced a few steps — 
 oh, mon Dieu ! He made me to laugh. He said it 
 was the double-shuffler. What is a double-shuffler, 
 Mr. Quentin? Can you dance one? " 
 
 " No, " said Quentin, " I have never learned that ac- 
 complishment. You mean, I suppose, a double- 
 shuffle." 
 
 'Yes," said Gartha, whose face had fallen at Quen- 
 tin' s declaration that he had never learned the double- 
 shuffle. 
 
 'Well, no matter," she said in an encouraging tone. 
 "Perhaps you can learn some day. Harry Ware 
 could teach you— but no, I forgot, Harry Ware will 
 never come back here again." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Quentin. 
 
 "Because I showed Mamasha a little echantillon
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 221 
 
 and told her what Mademoiselle and Valery had re- 
 marked, and she said" — here Gartha's body took on 
 a swinging motion from her waist upward ; she swayed 
 from side to side ; she pursed out her lips, and mouthed 
 exaggeratedly, and repeated in a sing-song tone, which 
 kept time to the nodding of her head : " ' That is the 
 last of Henery Ware!'' That's what Mamasha said, 
 'That is the last of Henery Ware ! ' She was of a 
 rougeur, Mamasha ! Valery said it was tragic. What 
 is tragic, Mr. Quentin? Mamasha was very fond of 
 that jeune homme, and Harry Ware was very fond of 
 her until Alixe came along; she always does, you 
 know." 
 
 "Always does what? " asked Quentin. 
 
 "Come along. When I'm big, I'm going to wear 
 my hair all pulled over my ears with silver combs and 
 look at the men without seeing them, and take them 
 all away from Mamasha. I shall try. Valery says 
 Alixe doesn't try. Valery says they just flock. I 
 wonder if they will flock when I'm big. There was 
 one very queer thing about Harry Ware. He called 
 Charles Monsieur; Misshure ! so! Valery said that 
 was because he was a outsider. What is a outsider, 
 Mr. Quentin? He said, I mean Harry Ware, that 
 my Uncle Bruno was probably the worse thing that 
 ever happened. I don't know exactly what Harry 
 Ware meant, Mr. Quentin ; but 3 r ou know how I hate 
 my Uncle Bruno, and it seemed to me as if I thought 
 as he did." 
 
 " Where did this refined young gentleman live when 
 he was at home? " asked Quentin. 
 
 " I don't know; but I know he said that at his place 
 they had a long fall and a late freeze-up. What is a 
 fall, Mr. Quentin? "
 
 222 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "He meant autumn," said Quentin. "I say that, 
 too. We always say it in America." 
 
 "Are you an American?" asked Gartha, with a 
 dawning look of horror in her eyes. 
 
 "Yes. What of it?" 
 
 "Why — why — I thought they were all the very 
 dreadfulest people. Quelquechose abominable! 
 When once I asked Marie Monrouge why Americans 
 acted so, she just said, ' Q'est la race ! ' Harry W T are 
 showed me a ring Mamasha gave him. It was " 
 
 "I am not interested in Mr. Ware's " 
 
 " A twisted sort of chain, with dark blue stones in 
 it." 
 
 (So that was the reason why Madame 's pretty fin- 
 ger was unadorned with the sapphire ring that she 
 had slipped off his finger in playful mood on the sands 
 one bright day and had forgotten to return.) 
 
 " I asked Harry Ware to give it to me, but he said 
 he would have hocked it long ago, but that the old 
 girl would raise Hail Columbia. What is it to 
 hock " 
 
 " Had you any idea whom he meant by ' the old 
 girl ' ? " asked Quentin drily. 
 
 " Valery said it was sa faute. He said she had no 
 discrim — oh, well — well — n — no — well, yes, a lit- 
 tle," thus stammering, as Quentin fixed her with 
 his eye, where she saw disapproval. She changed 
 the subject hurriedly. " And then Monsieur le Mau- 
 rier came. I do not know where Mamasha got him. 
 Valery said at Treport. He said he thought Mamasha 
 was a little ashamed of him before you. You know 
 who I mean, Mr. Quentin, the one Lord Eldon said 
 about, ' The third Napoleon, by Jove ! ' I do not 
 like that Monsieur le Maurier. Je suis bien fache
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 223 
 
 contre Monsieur le Maurier. He eats of cheese with 
 the fork." 
 
 "Do you always have as excellent reasons for your 
 likes and dislikes of people? " 
 
 Gartha nodded. Gartha's words had recalled to 
 Quentin's mind the little gentleman with the waxed 
 moustache and the Roman nose, whom he had at once 
 thought the very counterpart of the Third Napo- 
 leon. 
 
 " Don't you remember? That was the evening that 
 Alixe wore her diamonds and Monsieur le Maurier 
 exclaimed, ' Mon Dieu ! Madame la Duchesse a les 
 manieres et la taille d'une Imperatrice ! ' When I 
 told Mamasha, she sent me to bed. I usually have to 
 me coucher, depart for my bed — I mean, for those 
 others — them remarks. Then, the next morning he 
 came when I was alone in the ruins, and how he did 
 put to me the question." 
 
 " Put questions to you ! What about? " 
 
 " Oh, nom de Dieu ! I know not exactly. I re- 
 member that he asked me about you " 
 
 "About me?" returned Quentin in astonishment. 
 
 Gartha nodded. " He said, ' Were you very inti- 
 mate with my Uncle Bruno, and did you help him 
 with his chemicals? ' And I said, ' God forbid ! ' " 
 
 " There was no necessity for such extravagant de- 
 nial as that. You might just have said " 
 
 " I wanted him to understand once and for all the 
 days that you were no friend of my Uncle Bruno. 
 You know how I hate my Uncle Bruno. Why, even 
 Alixe knows all about it. Then he asked me about 
 Robert Halle ; more about him than any one. I made 
 out as bad a case against Robert Halle as I could." 
 
 "What case could you make out against Father
 
 224 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Halle? " asked Quentin, laughing in spite of himself. 
 "I am sure he has always been very good to you." 
 
 " Oh, oui, tres poli, but I do not like his ways, " 
 answered Gartha. " I told Monsieur le Maurier that 
 he had strange men coming to see him, men who are 
 not of our condition, gens de la basse classe ; that once 
 I viewed him behind the mill talking with a very bad 
 looking person and taking a parcel of him." 
 
 "That is nothing against him," argued Quentin. 
 " Many people look bad who are not bad. " 
 
 " Monsieur le Maurier gave me a box of sweets and 
 promised more when he came again. Candied fruits 
 of Potin. Yes, he is but an epicier, that I know; but 
 those are the things that I like best of tout Paris. 
 And when he left, he beckoned to me this way, ' Come 
 here ! Come here ! ' Gartha crooked her little 
 brown finger and beckoned to her imaginary double. 
 " And he said, ' Now all of as two ' " 
 
 "We two " 
 
 " We two have a secret together. Be sure you find 
 out all that the priest does, and do not tell any one 
 but me, Jean le Maurier." 
 
 "And this is how you keep y our promise," Quentin 
 laughed again. "Don't be afraid, I will not tell; but 
 I think it a very strange thing that a gentleman should 
 come here ostensibly to visit your — ahem ! — to visit 
 Madame, and ask you to spy upon her friends. Did 
 you tell her? " 
 
 " No, but I told Valery, and he said Mr. Le Mau- 
 rier was probly a emissry of the Archbishop. " 
 
 " So your father knows? " 
 
 " Yes, and Alixe. And Alixe said to Mamasha that 
 Monsieur le Maurier should never come to the Abbey 
 again, and Mamasha said that Alixe was jealous with
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 225 
 
 her. Just as if Alixe could not get them with the 
 crook of her little ringer. That is what Valery said." 
 
 " So that is the way you keep people's secrets ! I 
 must be careful how I trust you." Gartha's lip 
 drooped, which, Quentin seeing, did his best to reas- 
 sure her by a kinder tone. " And what did Madame 
 say to all this? " 
 
 " Who? Mamasha? Oh, she did not care so much 
 as we have thought. You see by that time Alixe had 
 come along, and Monsieur le Maurier had forgotten 
 all about Mamasha. He came just after Mamasha 
 said, 'That is the last of Henry Ware.' Do not let 
 her know I told you, Mr. Quentin! I do get so many 
 scoldings." The child sighed. "But I am glad 
 Robert Halle has gone. I do hate him with his long 
 dress and snaky eyes." 
 
 " Gone? " said Quentin. 
 
 "I have not seen him since before yesterday," said 
 Gartha. 
 
 " Don't you want to go for a walk with me? Come ! 
 Let us go for a little run up the hill." 
 
 Gartha immediately arose, saying, "Yes, and I'll 
 show you where my squirrels are, a tree just the 
 other side of the glade. Tout pres, tout pres ! Ah, 
 bah ! that French again ! " She began to descend the 
 narrow little steps. " Do you know where the Weasel 
 is, Mr. Quentin? " 
 
 "I didn't know you had a weasel," said Quentin, 
 as he sprang down from the top of the wall. " You 
 see that I got down the quickest after all ! What a 
 narrow little staircase ! " 
 
 " Marie Monrouge says that a Religious made that 
 stair. She got out and builded it in a single night, 
 all to go off with a nobleman, a marquis who was in 
 15
 
 226 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 love of her." Quentin raised his eyes to the stair- 
 way. 
 
 " I don't think she could have laid those stones," 
 he said. " Certainly not in a single night." 
 
 "And the idea of leaving the warm bed and steal- 
 ing out to build a wall to go away with a nobleman. 
 Noblemen are dreadful vauriens. I never saw any 
 noblemen but my Uncle Bruno, and Alixe's duke, 
 and I never saw him." 
 
 "Lord Eldon," suggested Quentin. 
 
 " Yes, and the Lord Eldon. Valery says the higher 
 the title the deeper the game. He says that you can 
 never reckon without your hostess at Abbaye de 
 Bref. "What is it to reckon without your hostess, 
 Mr. Quentin?" 
 
 "I don't think I ever heard exactly that expres- 
 sion, Gartha." 
 
 "Si je ne me trompe. I would not hesitate to 
 build a stairway to escape with you," said Gartha, 
 looking up frankly into Quentin 's eyes and squeezing 
 his hand with her grimy one, "and I'm sure I would 
 be more than willing to escape with his Emnunce. 
 You know, the Archbishop. So far I think you two 
 have been my only lovers." 
 
 Gartha said these words with a very lofty air. 
 She added : " When I told Valery, he laughed till he 
 was very red. Oh ! of a rougeur, and he said that I 
 could not expect to rival Mamasha at my age, that she 
 was much younger than I was in every way, and that 
 she had done for you both. What had she done for 
 you both? " 
 
 Quentin did not appear to hear this very pointed 
 question. He was gazing at the far distant hills. 
 They were now at the little door in the wall. Not
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 227 
 
 wishing to reply he pretended to busy himself with 
 the hasp of the gate. 
 
 Gartha went to a crevice in the wall and took there- 
 from a key. 'You must lock it on the outside," she 
 said. Then she stood uncertain, just within the 
 doorway. 'You didn't tell me where the Weasel is, 
 Mr. Quentin." 
 
 "The weasel? I didn't know you had a weasel. 
 Where do you keep him? " 
 
 "The Weasel," said Gartha. speaking very slowly, 
 and with extreme emphasis, " was sitting on the ter- 
 race an hour ago. Elle est caracterisee de la maniere 
 suivante. She has a grey moustache and eyes of the 
 ferret. She does not wear garters, and her stockings 
 is always fallen down. She has a tooth fastened on 
 a peg, and spits when she talks, she makes very poor 
 daubs, Valery says, and her first name is Mademoi- 
 selle." 
 
 Quentin turned his back again and looked up the 
 hill. 
 
 "Les petites San Gene have an English miss. I 
 wish that I, too, could have an English miss. Ma- 
 masha says that Mademoiselles are the meilleur 
 marche, but why should I have the education of the 
 meilleur marche when Valery has so much African 
 money? An English miss will cost the more, but 
 she will remain an English miss." 
 
 "I should think it extremely likely," said Quentin. 
 
 "And where was Mademoiselle?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said, in as steady a voice 
 as he could command, " is sitting on the terrace 
 with the Baroness. She has been very busy paint- 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh, yes! Do I not know? She is making the
 
 228 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 dry wash. Valery says that it is the only wash of 
 which she knows something." 
 
 "I don't believe she will miss you for a little 
 while," said Quentin. "Come, now. Let us see 
 who will be at the top of the hill first." 
 
 "Has you ever seen the Weasel's garters, Mr. 
 Quentin? " 
 
 "No," said Quentin, shortly. 
 
 " If you watch her ankles you will see them. They 
 are always down. Valery says that if you " Quen- 
 tin hurriedly locked the door, slipping the key into 
 his pocket. 
 
 "Here I go, catch me if you can," and off he ran, 
 putting a stop to he knew not what disclosures. He 
 was followed by Gartha, who, bonnetless, her elf- 
 locks hanging down over her shoulders, had, at his 
 words, started on a quick run toward, then up, the 
 wooded slope. Once fairly on the way Quentin lagged 
 behind. When Gartha became tired, she turned to 
 see him, lying, apparently exhausted, beneath one of 
 the trees which grew on the hillside. When the child 
 was rested, and started on again, her big companion 
 raised his long form from the ground and strode 
 slowly after her, dragging his feet as if this steep 
 climb was more than he had bargained for. 
 
 "You'll get there before me, Gartha," he called 
 after her. 
 
 Gartha had reached the crest of the hill. She was 
 standing still at the root of a tree, her manner one of 
 secrecy and intense excitement. 
 
 "H-u-u-sh," she whispered. Then she beckoned 
 violently, at the same time sending another low 
 "Hush!" down the hill. 
 
 Quentin, to humor her, advanced with a great show
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 229 
 
 of caution. WherThe reached the place where she 
 had halted, she, from her eminence on a protruding 
 root, laid her arms upon his shoulders and whispered 
 in his ear : 
 
 " There's a little nest of squirrels over there on the 
 other side of the glade — p'tit, p'tit, p'tit ! More of 
 interest than les cochons de lait. The little pigs 
 of milk, you know. If we tiptoe, we may see 
 them." 
 
 So Quentin tiptoed as in duty bound, and soon the 
 two were in the open circle, and walking as noise- 
 lessly as possible toward the further slope which 
 stretched downward into another valley. Gartha held 
 Quentin by the hand. 
 
 " C'est la-bas, just where you see that hole enorme — 
 enormous," corrected Gartha, halting and pointing 
 to the base of an old tree a short distance down the 
 hill. Then again she began to creep along on the 
 tips of her toes, and Quentin followed in much the 
 same manner. As they came out from behind a gi- 
 gantic oak upon the steep brow of the hill, thej r per- 
 ceived, just below them, not the squirrels, little or 
 big, but two men, who had their backs toward this 
 pair of friends. As Quentin came within earshot, he 
 heard one of them say : 
 
 "That last clock-work was defective, very! The 
 count does not know why, but he is not at all satis- 
 fied with it. He has not heard that it has done what 
 he expected." 
 
 The speaker had his back to the pair. He was 
 dressed in a long black coat which reached to his 
 heels, and he wore a black felt hat. The second 
 man, who was standing looking up the hill, and fac- 
 ing Quentin, was dressed in the garb of a workman.
 
 230 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 He returned a quick answer ; his manner was rough, 
 and the tone verged on impertinence : 
 
 " The Monsieur knows that I must get paid for my 
 work. That last bit took me all of three days to put 
 together. If Monsieur le Comte does not know how 
 to put it together, that is not my fault. If Monsieur 
 le Comte would employ me regularly at the chateau, 
 I could have done the matter more satisfactorily. 
 With all Monsieur le Comte 's money I should have 
 had an automobile finished long ago. It seems to 
 one who understands it that it takes a long time for 
 these Messieurs to get one machine finished." 
 
 "Be silent," said the priest, raising his voice. 
 " Here is your money. You will have to be more 
 particular about the next bit, or you will get no more 
 orders." The black sleeve was outheld and some 
 notes passed from one hand to the other. Gartha, 
 who was still watching for her squirrels, finger on 
 lip, paying little attention to the men, stepped, for 
 all her intended caution, on a dry stick. It cracked 
 with loud warning. The black-coated man turned 
 suddenly and disclosed to view the angry face of 
 Father Halle. 
 
 " Gartha ! " he exclaimed in a violent tone, " what 
 are you spying on me for? " 
 
 "There! They've gone into their hole, Mr. Quen- 
 tin. Why could not you keep still, Robert Halle? 
 Valery says that you have always been a spoil-sport. 
 Why cannot you be sage — good, I mean, just for 
 once, and let me show to Mr. Quentin my squirrels? " 
 
 " You are teaching the child to become as deceitful 
 as the rest of you," said the priest, looking upward 
 at Quentin, his eyes ablaze with anger. "And so 
 you, too, are spying on me again? "
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 231 
 
 "I am sure that if you recall the frankness of 
 Gartha's speech you cannot accuse her of being de- 
 ceitful toward you," said Quentin in answer, "and 
 as for me, no one was further from my thoughts. 
 Why you should be ashamed of being found in such 
 close communication with such a very disreputable 
 looking gentleman, I am at a loss to imagine. His 
 looks show him to be as crafty as you are yourself. 
 And the way in which he is stuffing your latest bribe 
 into his pocket proves plainly that you have some- 
 thing to hide, both of you." Quentin spoke these 
 words sharply. He spoke at a venture. He had no 
 positive knowledge or even suspicion that anything 
 was wrong with regard to Halle's meeting with the 
 mechanic, who, in fact, had an honest enough face, 
 but he had grown tired of the insolence of this priest. 
 The sudden extreme pallor that overspread Halle's 
 face proved that the shot had told. He stood there 
 irresolute, looking first at Quentin and then at the 
 workman. 
 
 " Do you understand what this gentleman is say- 
 ing?" he asked. "He accuses me of giving you 
 a bribe, and you of taking one. It is not within 
 my priestly office to chastise him, but I will pay 
 you twice as large a sum to-morrow as I have just 
 handed you if you will pitch him down the hill 
 yonder." 
 
 The workman, a brawny fellow, short and thick- 
 set, glanced from Quentin to the priest in astonish- 
 ment. He could understand nothing of the antag- 
 onism displayed on both sides. 
 
 Quentin burst into a laugh. There was a sneer in 
 it which he made as pronounced as possible. " Let 
 him try it. Let him try it," he said. "How many
 
 232 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 human beings your bribes have injured, Mr. Halle, 
 I am at a loss to conjecture; but if you imagine that 
 I am to be the next victim, you have reckoned without 
 your host." 
 
 At these random words, Halle, to Quentin's aston- 
 ishment, turned on him fairly beside himself with 
 fury. He trembled in every limb. " Seize him ! " he 
 shouted. " Seize him ! I say. This liar, this per- 
 jurer, this defamer of men a thousand times more 
 honest than himself." 
 
 Quentin burst into an enraging laugh. He was, 
 suddenly, so incensed against the priest that it was 
 with difficulty that he restrained himself. 
 
 " So the cap fits ! " he said. " It is strange with 
 what alacrity you put it on, Mr. Halle." The work- 
 man stood wavering. 
 
 " Come on ! " said Quentin, in a voice in which he 
 strove in vain to preserve a quiet tone. " Come on ! 
 They won't recognize you when I have finished with 
 you, and then I will send this precious son of the 
 church to bear you company." 
 
 "Do you hear him, Guerin? Do you hear him? " 
 screamed the priest, foaming at the mouth in his 
 rage. "Will you allow a priest of the church to 
 stand here and take the insults of this foreigner? 
 You that I saw once fell an ox, and with one blow ! 
 What are you afraid of? At him! At the heretic! 
 No matter what happens, I will absolve you." 
 
 Quentin leaned against a tree. " So you will ab- 
 solve even the crime of murder, should it go so far," 
 he said. 
 
 " Why don't you give him the coup yourself, Rob- 
 ert Halle?" called Gartha. "There are two of you. 
 I have* heard His Grace to say that you belong to our
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 233 
 
 church no longer. You may strike, now that you 
 are not more a priest in holy orders." 
 
 Halle took a step forward toward the child, but 
 Quentin fearing what he might be tempted to do in 
 his unreasoning rage, thrust Gartha behind the tree. 
 
 "Back, back!" he said threateningly to Halle. 
 " Men do not war on little children, even if they be 
 dishonored priests." 
 
 By this time Halle's subordinate, seeing some sort 
 of show of courage on the part of the priest, had 
 thrown his coat to the ground, and was advancing 
 with threatening eye, upward over the few feet of 
 ground which separated himself and Quentin. 
 
 " Come on ! " called Quentin, bristling for a fight. 
 Not knowing what hidden strength the man might 
 possess, " Run back, " he called to Gartha, " and stand 
 on the further edge of the glade, and when they have 
 killed me between them, run down and tell them at 
 the Abbey. Here ! wait a minute. You will need the 
 key." He tossed it to her, laughingly, and Gartha, 
 who had been growing round-eyed and pale, joined 
 him in his laugh. 
 
 "Robert Halle," called Gartha, as she backed 
 slowly across the green circle, "if you know what 
 is good for vou, run ! Run, as if His Grace was after 
 you ! " 
 
 Newly stung by this taunt, Halle made a quick 
 dart toward Quentin and tried to grapple with him. 
 Quentin allowed him to come close, and then with 
 a grip that is well known to wrestlers he seized upon 
 the priest, and with a dexterous movement swung the 
 lank figure over his head. The priest fell heavily to 
 the ground and lay there quite still. Guerin seeing 
 his chief fallen, lying quite motionless, stole sneak-
 
 234 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 ingly to the place where his coat was lying, picked it 
 up and ran quickly down the slope. Gartha began 
 to walk away without even so much as a look at her 
 prostrate foe. 
 
 "You've killed Robert Halle," she called over her 
 shoulder to Quentin. " Je m'en bats l'ceil." 
 
 "He is not killed," said Quentin, and remembering 
 the look that had come over Halle's face but a mo- 
 ment since at some random words of his, he added : 
 " Before he dies, he will have the opportunity to think 
 of those whom he has sent before him." 
 
 The eyelids of the priest trembled. He straight- 
 ened his body, then sat up. He felt of one arm, then 
 of the other, then of each leg, his knees, his ankles. 
 
 "Espece de type!" ejaculated Gartha, looking 
 scornfully at the priest. 
 
 "Gartha! 
 
 " Marie Monrouge says it ! She says all— tout le 
 monde says it in the quartier," and then, looking 
 again at the priest, " espece de sale Francais ! " 
 
 " Nothing of the kind that you can say harms the 
 priest," said Quentin dryly. 
 
 " I suppose that you would say that it does me the 
 harm. Au contraire, Monsieur Quentin, it does me 
 much of the good." 
 
 " Very well, come away ! " 
 
 "There is nothing broken," said Quentin. "I had 
 no intention of killing you, but be careful, please, 
 how you attack me in the future. I shall not let you 
 off so easily the next time. Come, Gartha." 
 
 The priest raised himself and stood upright. He 
 turned toward Quentin. His eyes glared. They 
 shone like balls of fire. He stretched forth his hand 
 toward the two, and then began to pour from his lips
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 235 
 
 a string of curses ' more frightful than any to which 
 Quentin had ever listened. 
 
 " Cease ! " Quentin shouted ! " You shall not utter 
 such vile words before this child. Were your anath- 
 ema delivered from the high altar it would not affect 
 me, for I should still consider its source, but this 
 child is of the church which you pollute, and I will 
 not allow you to foul her ears with language which is 
 fit only for the slums. If you have forgotten what is 
 due to your once upright manhood, you shall remem- 
 ber that which is due to the daughter of the house 
 where you have been for many years a pensioner." 
 
 'Yes," said Gartha, nodding her head commend- 
 ingly, and speaking very fast, with much appearance 
 of consciousness, " and I will tell Alixe that you raved 
 and swored and hurled curses and said sacre, and 
 lots of other bad words. It mortifies me very much, 
 Eobert Halle, to see you very rude before the gentle- 
 man that I am to marry some day." 
 
 " Little fool ! " snarled the priest. " So he flatters 
 you that way, does he? " 
 
 "And if you are an unfrocked priest," said Gartha, 
 holding tightly to Quentin's hand and backing off the 
 while as she watched Halle warily, " why do you not 
 take off that long ' black ' woman's costume and show 
 your legs like other of the men? That coat covers up 
 the behind part of you, but in front you are still play- 
 ing priest. " After Gartha had made the sarcastic in- 
 quiry and appended statement, she ran, pulling Quen- 
 tin after her. " Now, " she said, " I am going to the 
 Abbey to tell Alixe." 
 
 At the name of Alixe, repeated in a cooler moment, 
 Halle shivered, turned away, and descended the hill, 
 following the path which the mechanic had taken.
 
 236 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Quentin and Gartha watched him for a moment, then 
 crossed the glade and skirted the slope which led to- 
 ward the Abbey. 
 
 "Now, Gartha," said Quentin, "don't say anything 
 about all this. It will only annoy y our aunt, and she 
 seems to have enough to trouble her just now. If you 
 can prevent her having any more, I think you will." 
 
 " Well," returned Gartha, "I go to think over that. 
 If Alixe does not come between me and you " 
 
 "You and me." 
 
 " — You and me," repeated Gartha obediently. "I 
 cannot see why you want me to put you at the first, 
 I may — You were my discovery. Now was you 
 not " 
 
 "Were you not?" 
 
 "Were you not, Mr. Quentin?" 
 
 "Or were you mine, which? " 
 
 " And if Bruno wants to pay a man some money, 
 why must Robert Halle meet him, that ouvrier, over 
 there in that lonely place, to pay him? And why did 
 he think we were spying upon him? Seigneur Dieu ! 
 I was never so disappointed. Espece de type ! " 
 
 "Don't say that, Gartha." 
 
 " Marie Monrouge says it and la Mere Monrouge 
 also. Do you know la Mere Monrouge, Mr. Quentin, 
 and le Pere Monrouge? He was living in an atelier 
 in the Quartier Latin when he was young. The Mere 
 Monrouge, she gives me the gateaux." 
 
 As Gartha chattered, her talk ha]f heard by Quen- 
 tin and receiving random answers, his thoughts were 
 much like those expressed so plainly by the child 
 herself. He was at a loss to understand the secrecy 
 preserved by Halle and his master — for that St. Au- 
 bin was so, was quite evident to him now. As
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 237 
 
 Quentin walked lie pondered. There seemed to be a 
 profound mystery pertaining to the putting together 
 of all their machinery. In the first place they called 
 them chemicals, the materials with which they 
 worked, and their conversation was constantly of auto- 
 mobiles. If St. Aubin was engaged in the invention 
 of an automobile, why should he be so mysterious 
 about receiving the various parts of the apparatus? 
 Why should he pay his workman in this underhand 
 manner? Why should not the different bits of motive 
 power come to the chateau openly? They might be 
 enclosed in boxes which could be opened in St. Au- 
 bin's own chambers, the east rooms of the chalet. 
 And if a workman had completed a portion of the ma- 
 chinery, why should he not be paid by a draft or note 
 at the chateau itself? All this appearance of secrecy 
 had set Quentin thinking deeply, and caused him to 
 feel that there must be some occult knowledge which 
 St. Aubin was determined should be kept from all but 
 his tool, the priest. He reasoned and argued for and 
 against in his mind, and finally found that the only 
 conclusion on which he could decide definitely was 
 that the whole thing was a pretence on St. Aubin's 
 part. He was simply wasting his wife's fortune in 
 riotous living in Paris, and his long absences meant 
 that, no more, no less. So loDg as he could pretend 
 to be at work on some wonderful invention, the 
 money, and plentj r of it, would be forthcoming; but 
 should Alixe discover that which Quentin felt certain 
 must be the fact, she would cease the lavish and gen- 
 erous expenditure which was, he had heard, begin- 
 ning to tell upon her income. 
 
 As Quentin came to this conclusion, he had reached 
 the road at the bottom of the hill. Gartha handed
 
 238 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 him the key, for they were now standing before the 
 little door in the wall. 
 
 " There is just one thing I wish to ask you, Mr. 
 Quentin, before we part," said Gartha, looking up 
 from her lowly height. He, in turn, looked down 
 inquiringly. "Would you mind telling me your 
 name, your first name? " 
 
 "Telling you my first name? No, certainly not. 
 It's John." 
 
 Gartha's face fell. "Oh!" she said, "John!" 
 There was silence for a moment, or as long as Gartha 
 would allow it to remain unbroken. Quentin un- 
 locked the door in the wall and entered, Gartha fol- 
 lowing. He then closed and locked the door, giving 
 the key to the child, and pushed the bolt in place, 
 thus doubly securing this way of ingress; and then 
 Quentin, who had been conscious of a discontented 
 murmur, heard her say: "Why can you not? Do 
 you not hear me, Mr. Quentin? W r hy can you not? " 
 
 "Why can't I what, Gartha? " 
 
 " Ah, nom de Dieu ! It is to repeat again ! Why, 
 be rechristened, I am asking you. You might let my 
 Emnunce do it. He did it to the Countess Blan- 
 dina's twins." Gartha spoke as if she were advising 
 vaccination. " I wish — I wish, Mr. Quentin, it was 
 another name than John. How would you like Al- 
 phonse, or Anatole? I once heard Mamasha say 
 there was not much sentiment about the name of 
 John." 
 
 " She is right ! " assented Quentin promptly. 
 "There isn't." 
 
 " It was once when she had a letter from England, 
 a little while before you came. Mamasha read that 
 letter, and she folded it, and began to put it in her
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 239 
 
 dress up here, so ; and then she thought better things 
 of that, and she opened her little black bag, and put 
 it in the bag. Mamasha looked sad — I was almost 
 unhappy for her. She looked away ; over there." 
 
 "To the hills? " asked Quentin. 
 
 "No, no; much, much further, as if she was look- 
 ing the whole globe round ; and then she sighed, like 
 this." Gartha gave a heart-rending sigh. "And she 
 said, Mamasha did : ' There is not much sentiment 
 about the name of John. ' " 
 
 By this time Gartha had replaced the key in the 
 crevice in the wall, and was skipping along by Quen- 
 tin, holding his hand fast in hers. 
 
 " You might be named Anastasius, after His Grace ; 
 or Patrick Michael, after my Grandfather Valery." 
 The two friends ascended the stone steps at the end 
 of the terrace and passed under the chalet windows. 
 Had one been looking out from the chalet or the cha- 
 teau they might have seen this strange pair stop un- 
 derneath the great tree, and, had they watched closely, 
 they would have seen something pass from the hand 
 of Quentin to that of his little charge. 
 
 "There! That's settled," said Gartha, looking 
 round to see who might be listening. " The Weasel's 
 gone, Mr. Quentin," she added, as if she were ex- 
 plaining the habits of a denizen of a zoological garden. 
 
 There was a ring at the gate. Pierre Monrouge 
 opened it at the summons, and Madame entered with 
 LordEldon. Madame looked happy ; one might say, 
 with more truth, successful. Lord Eldon's face was 
 flushed more than usual, his eyes were shining. 
 
 "Or you might be named Valery, after my father," 
 said Gartha, resuming her first subject rather ab- 
 ruptly. She held Quentin's hands with both of hers,
 
 240 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 and jumped up and down. "Hilary Valery, that 
 would be a lovely name for you." 
 
 "Or Alibone Crackibone," supplemented Madame, 
 who had come up to them just in time. " Have you 
 had a pleasant afternoon, my friend? " She came 
 close to Quentin, pushing Gartha ever so slightly 
 aside as she did so, and looked up at him from 
 under the fall of dentelle de soie, her eyes flashing 
 through the snaky embroidery depicted upon the veil. 
 
 "I have missed you," said Quentin, looking down 
 at her, then turning to gaze with a jealous stare after 
 Lord Eldon's back. 
 
 " You dear ! " said Madame. As a far door closed 
 upon the rejuvenated Lord Eldon, she took Quentin's 
 hand affectionately in hers. "You dear!" she re- 
 peated. Gartha walked away, hunching up her shoul- 
 ders one after the other and shaking her skirts from 
 side to side with great evidence of anger and con- 
 sciousness.
 
 XXV. 
 
 Alixe sat at her farther window, gazing abroad on 
 the distant view. Her hands were lying listlessly in 
 her lap, as she looked beyond the abbey wall and 
 across the meadows where the sunny river tinkled 
 through the vallej^, her eyes fixed upon the everlast- 
 ing hills. Her head was listlessly down-drooped, her 
 lashes were wet. There was a knock at the door. 
 
 "I cannot see any one," called Alixe. 
 
 "What, not me? Not your own Gartha? Tu me 
 trompes, Alixe. Oh, dearest, mon ame, petit chou! 
 Ouvrez-moi ta porte. I have something — oh ! but of 
 importance of the greatest. It is a secret just yet 
 between all the two of us — me and you." As Gartha 
 said these words, she pounded with her little fist on 
 the door of the Abbess's room. 
 
 Alixe arose at once. She brushed her handker- 
 chief across her eyes, went to the door, and opened 
 it. Gartha was inside in a moment, and Alixe closed 
 the iron barrier with a necessary clang, and put up 
 the heavy worn chain. 
 
 " Dear little Gartha ! Dear little girl ! I have been 
 longing to see you. Where have you been that you 
 did not come to see Alixe? " She stooped and placed 
 her arms around the bony little shoulders. They 
 seemed to shrink to nothing at her touch. She kissed 
 the child, and rising, led her to the open window. 
 " Where have you been? " she repeated, as she seated 
 herself and took Gartha up on her lap. 
 16
 
 242 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " I have been taking a promenade a deux up in trie 
 hills, with my latest and truly lover, Alixe," said 
 Gartha seriously, turning and looking her straight in 
 the eyes — of the pair, one could not have told whose 
 gaze was the most straightforward and childlike. " I 
 want you to promise me something. Will you? " 
 And then, without waiting for reply and talking very 
 fast, fingering the laces about Alixe's shoulders the 
 while, " I want you to promise me never to come be- 
 tween me and John? " 
 
 "John? John who? " asked Alixe, a smile flooding 
 her face at the airs of this comical child. 
 
 " Quentin, John Quentin. Did you not know that 
 was his nom de bapteme? What is the matter? 
 Have I hurt vou, Alixe? That would touch me with 
 compunction. How you started! We are fiances, 
 me and John Quentin. My first love was my Em- 
 nunce, but Yalery has — has — deconcerte me much. 
 He says that his bride is the church — my Emnunce, I 
 mean. Do you think the next best one is John 
 Quentin? How you jump, Alixe ! What is the mat- 
 ter? Are there pins in my frock? They will give 
 one almost a blessure mortelle. Marie Monrouge 
 said once there was une grande Princesse, and there 
 was a pin in her little girl's dress, and it had the 
 poison upon it, and it gave her a coup and killed her. " 
 
 " There are other stings than pins, Gartha. What 
 do you say Mr. Quentin 's name is? " 
 
 "John." 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 "He did. I asked him. Of course I could not 
 marry with a man if I did not know his name. Sup- 
 pose we were at the wedding, you and John Quentin, 
 and me and Valery and the Archbishop, and I should
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 243 
 
 begin to say, 'I, Gartha Valery, take you' — and then 
 I should have to give him an oeillade, quick, like 
 this, and say in a whisper, 'What did you say your 
 name is, young man? ' That would be of an awkward- 
 ness most extreme." 
 
 "Yes, it would be very trying," assented Alixe. 
 " Well, and what more? " 
 
 "Well, then, after he told me, my face fell." 
 "Did it?" said Alixe, laughing. "How do you 
 know that? " 
 
 " Faces always fall in the stories Mademoiselle reads 
 to me ; and I said, 'I should like you to be — re — bapt' 
 — what shall I say, Alixe? " 
 
 " Kechristened, I suppose you mean." 
 
 "Yes, rechristened, after his Emnunce, Anasta- 
 
 • )» 
 
 S1US. 
 
 "His Grace, you mean." 
 
 "His Grace and my Emnunce," laughed Gartha. 
 " As I was coming up the stairs, Alixe, I thought of 
 something else. You see, we might have children. 
 I should prefer three girls and three boys. Then 
 they could be named Emnunce, Anastasius, and 
 Hilary ; and the girls could be named Alixe, Gartha, 
 and Allaire, after my little mamma." 
 
 "You must not talk so freely, Gartha. It is not 
 customary. I hope you never will to Mr. Quentin or 
 any one else." Alixe looked grave. "You must 
 never, never do it." 
 
 "I have not had the time, "answered Gartha. "I 
 have only been fiancee about seven minutes. I do 
 not really know whether John Quentin re — relizes it 
 yet." Here Gartha changed her position to one that 
 was most uncomfortable, her elbow resting on one 
 knee, which was drawn up to meet it, her thumb hold-
 
 244 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 ing up her chin, her forefinger resting prominently 
 on her little brown cheek. A very large ring, which 
 held a finely cut topaz, wobbled about on the thin 
 brown member. At last she sighed in despairing 
 tones : 
 
 "You don't seem to notice anything, Alixe." 
 
 "Notice what?" 
 
 "Oh! oh! Do turn your head this way. Don't 
 look off the other side of the world. My ring ! My 
 ring ! You do not see it at all." 
 
 "Your ring? Oh, yes; I do see it now. What a 
 ver} r beautiful stone that is, Gartha. Be very careful 
 of it. That is a very handsome ornament; you might 
 lose it." 
 
 "John Quentin did not surround me with con — 
 condishuns," said Gartha proudly. "When I asked 
 him for a gage d' amour, he said this was the only 
 one he had, and it belonged to an aunt who was dead. 
 Would she be my aunt too, Alixe, when we are mar- 
 ried with each other? He never said another thing, 
 or spoke of my losing it. He just trusted me, John 
 Quentin did. And he told me another time of a sister 
 of his who died. He said she was very beautiful, and 
 that he loved her better than anything in the world ; 
 and when I asked him if she was more beautiful than 
 you, he said, 'No.' How hot your face is, Alixe. 
 Am I making you too warm? Shall I get down, 
 Alixe? No? Then let me lay my head down on you, 
 so. I am tired. We took a long prom — walk up 
 in the hills, me and John Quentin. We went to look 
 for those weeny squirrels. We went into the glade 
 and a most sickening sight we saw. Quelque-chose 
 abominable ! " 
 
 "What did you see?"
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 245 
 
 "Instead of pretty squirrels, all of innocence, 
 all of beauty, we saw a very much more hateful 
 thing, and that was Robert Halle. I do hate him 
 dans les derniers replis du cceur." 
 
 "Gartha, Gartha! Do not say such things. Rob- 
 ert Halle here again! Then your Uncle Bruno must 
 be here too." 
 
 "For me, I hope that does not follow," returned 
 Gartha, frankly. "That is what Yalery ermarked 
 when I said that one da v. You should have saw " 
 
 "Seen." 
 
 " Seen John Quentin throw Robert Halle over his 
 head." 
 
 "Throw Robert Halle over his head! Oh, Gartha, 
 what can you mean ! " Alixe started to rise. "Why 
 should he " 
 
 "I mean that," said Gartha. "It was a fine sight. 
 Attendez! Let me get down and show you." Gartha 
 struggled to the floor. "You see we were looking 
 for squirrels. I was here and John Quentin was 
 there, where the prie-dieu stands. I beckoned him 
 so, and said ' Hush, ' and he came tip-toeing along 
 just this way," Gartha suited her actions to her 
 words, " and when we got to the old oak, who should 
 we see instead of the squirrels but Robert Halle. 
 He was handing some money to an ouvrier. Ah, bah ! 
 that French ! to a working homme — man — and when he 
 saw us he turned with an angry glance with much of 
 the acces de colere, and said, ' What are you spying 
 on me for, Gartha? ' That made me much ashamed, 
 Alixe. It was not very nice to a fiancee, now was it, 
 Alixe? " 
 
 "No," assented Alixe, who, accustomed as she was 
 to Gartha' s quaint mixing of the languages, and her
 
 246 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 mistakes between the two grammars, always found 
 the child's conversation freshly amusing. 
 
 " Ecoutez ! It is too long to tell, but the two men 
 came up the hill to fight John Quentin, at least Rob- 
 ert Halle came, and the ouvrier started away, and 
 when Robert Halle arroached John Quentin, he 
 took him in his arms just as a mother takes its babe, 
 and throwed him over his head." 
 
 "Oh! Oh!" Alixe started up, concern written in 
 her face. "It could not be as a mother takes her 
 babe, Gartha. Did Mr. Quentin hurt Father Halle? " 
 
 "J'espere," said Gartha in a cheerful tone. "He 
 did get up, but possibly some bones are broken, 
 though John Quentin said not. He walked down the 
 hill, and then I taunted him. Then we walked off 
 down our side of the hill, my little hand in John 
 Quentin 's, and Robert Halle went on his way, after 
 the ouvrier." 
 
 " Oh, Gartha, how could you taunt him, poor man ! 
 What had he done to this — this Mr. Quentin? " 
 
 "I made some slight ermark about his being an 
 unfrocked priest, and still wearing a long, black 
 dress, and he went on his path muttering. I should 
 not wonder if he had murder in his heart. May I 
 play with your bracelet, Alixe? " Gartha climbed 
 into the lap of her devoted Alixe. "Why do you 
 wear so broad a bracelet? There ! I have unclasped 
 it. Oh! Oh! Why! How did you get that bine 
 mark round your wrist? How ugly it looks, Alixe! 
 Is that the clasp of the Mother Abbess who walks 
 at night and takes your wrist in her hand, and says — " 
 Gartha lowered her voice sepulchrally and looked 
 over her shoulder with frightened eyes, " ' Come — with 
 —me ' "
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 247 
 
 "Who tells you those tales, Gartha? I will not 
 have it. I have said so many a time. " 
 
 " Only old Mere Monrouge down at the mill. You 
 cannot turn her out. Valery says she is a fixture, 
 fixee. He says she remains avec une fixite remar- 
 quable ! He says she has not change her po — posi- 
 tion for three hundred years." Gartha looked down 
 on the purple mark again. She pressed her lips to 
 the wrist of Alixe. "Dear Alixe," she said, "tell me 
 how you got it, that mark. It appears as if some one 
 pinched you." 
 
 "It was one of Uncle Bruno's experiments," said 
 Alixe, then laughed a sad little laugh at her own 
 conceit. 
 
 "Did he blow you up again, Alixe? " asked Gartha 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "Yes," answered Alixe, sadly amused at this play 
 upon words, and the situation. 
 
 "And it was sus — sue — you know what I mean, un 
 sneces i 
 
 "No, dear, I do not think it was, this time. I 
 think I have finished now — helping Uncle Bruno with 
 his experiments." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! How I hate my Uncle Bruno ! I never 
 could understan', Alixe, how you fell so dreadful in 
 love of him to marry him. Now, John Quentin is a 
 fine man in every respec', but j r ou are too late for 
 him, Alixe. Are you coming down to-night? Oh, 
 do, dearest Alixe. It is so tiresome with only Ma- 
 masha and Mamasha's la.test. John Quentin has to 
 turn his attention to the Weasel, and she rewards him 
 by spitting in his face." 
 
 " Gartha ! Gartha ! You must not say such dread- 
 ful things ! They are really too bad. "
 
 248 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " So Mademoiselle ermarked when I ermonstrated 
 with her, but I said, 'I am only telling you for your 
 own good.'" Gartha's tone and accent were so ex- 
 actly like Mademoiselle's own, when she corrected 
 the child, that Alixe laughed in spite of her wish not 
 to encourage Gartha. 
 
 "Now, I must hurry, il faut que je parte! John 
 Quentin will wonder what detains me. I shall wear 
 the pink-ruffled if Marie Monrouge has pressed it. If 
 not, then the blue and white that Lord Eldon called 
 ' a dainty little robe. ' " 
 
 When Gartha was gone, Alixe walked slowly about 
 the room. She had decided, for Gartha's sake, to 
 change her gown and appear at dinner. She rang 
 the bell for Nanette, and then she went across the 
 room to her wardrobe. In crossing the great space 
 her trailing robe rolled some article along with it. 
 It made a noise upon the tiled floor. Alixe ceased 
 her walk and stooped down. Just upon the edge of 
 the rug, caught among the fringe, to which it had 
 been drawn by her skirt, lay the topaz ring which 
 Gartha had dropped.
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The picnic passed off more quietly than most pic- 
 nics do. Usually there is some one person who en- 
 joys the dissipation of a picnic in the woods, but 
 Quentin was surprised to find that the attempt to 
 make this one a success resulted in a most dismal 
 failure, and but for the apparent enjoyment of Gartha, 
 it seemed as if each one regretted his quiet, shady 
 seat or room at the Abbey. 
 
 Madame sat most of the day under a tree in desul- 
 tory conversation with Lord Eldon, giving Quentin 
 an occasional glance, as if to say, "You see what 
 you have forced me to." His feelings had undergone 
 a change since he had rung the Abbey bell, now 
 nearly two weeks ago, and he was quite certain that 
 he should never again feel toward her as he had be- 
 fore the voluntary revelations of Valery had left so 
 unpleasant an impression upon his mind. He did 
 not avoid her, that he could not do, as she was his 
 hostess, but he was seeing less of her during these 
 days, which fact, so contradictory is human nature, 
 made him feel somewhat gloomy. It is unpleasant 
 to lose one's faith in a pleasant friend, one who has 
 been perhaps somewhat nearer than a casual friend. 
 This partial estrangement seemed to cause corre- 
 sponding joy in the breast of Lord Eldon. 
 
 On the whole Quentin found himself not saddened 
 by his approaching farewell to the Abbey. He wan- 
 dered along by the side of the brook, his rod over his
 
 250 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 shoulder, his head bent upon his breast, keeping 
 pace as nearly as possible with the Kastaquouere. 
 
 "Shouldn't wonder in the least if she'd nail him 
 yet," said Valery, as he stepped into the brook, rod 
 in hand. "If there's one thing that Mamasha values 
 more than eternal glory it's an earthly title. You 
 may think that she wants but little here below, but 
 I can tell you she wants that little pretty big and 
 pretty long. Eldon must be at least twenty years 
 older than Mamasha, and she's no chicken, but then 
 he's got money to burn up, as you Americans say, and 
 estates galore. You didn't encourage the old girl 
 sufficiently, I fear, Quentin," and Valery gave him a 
 sly poke in the region of the ribs with the end of his 
 rod. "If I am booked for a new step-papa, I don't 
 see why it couldn't have been you." 
 
 "What are you talking of, Valery dear?" called 
 Madame from the seclusion which she and Lord El- 
 don had chosen. 
 
 "I'll tell you if you'll tell me what you are talking 
 about," called back the irrepressible Valery. "Turn 
 about 's fair play, eh?" 
 
 Alixe and Gartha occupied their time in wandering 
 in the meadows or on the hillsides, picking flowers. 
 When they had found enough, they made them into 
 wreaths, which was Gartha's fancy, and crowned 
 Lord Eldon, who was thus made to appear, as ho 
 probably felt, extremely foolish, and even Valery sub- 
 mitted himself to the indignity and was made to look 
 like a veritable Bottom, with his jovial face and broad 
 smile encircled by a frame of leaves and flowers. 
 
 "Poor Alixe," said Valery, his wreath falling un- 
 becomingly over one eye, "they have ruined her 
 nationality among them."
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 251 
 
 "Her nationality? " asked Quentin. 
 
 "Yes, what country do you think claims her? " 
 
 " I thought her a Kussian ; but from her fluency in 
 French I thought that perhaps " 
 
 "Most of your people are fluent in French," said 
 Valery, "more so I find than the English or 
 the " 
 
 "Not to speak of the Irish," said Quentin, laugh- 
 ing. "But what do you mean by my people? Surely 
 Madame Alixe — Madame St " 
 
 "Yes, an American. Her father was a " 
 
 "A Kussian," said Quentin, "General Petrof- 
 sky " 
 
 "So Mamasha hasn't let you into the secrets of the 
 prison house, my dear fellow. Well, I am not sur- 
 prised. She is extremely kittenish, is Mamasha. 
 Mamasha's past, as I have told you, is shrouded in 
 mystery. Her first husband, the first she owns to, 
 was Alixe' s father. He, number one, was the father 
 of my little wife, also." 
 
 Quentin wondered afterward why he had cared if 
 Madame had been possessed in the past of forty 
 husbands, and why two were more to be regretted than 
 one, but at this time he did not reason with himself. 
 He only felt discomforted at Valery 's repetition. 
 
 "Yes, he was a very good sort," pursued Valery, 
 "not in the least an outsider. My little wife wor- 
 shipped his memory. I never saw him, my late la- 
 mented father-in-law. Alixe scarceh r remembers 
 him, she was so small when he died. Mamasha re- 
 tired from the field of conquest for a short time, and 
 then she emerged from her lair and went on her man 
 hunt again. She lay at the mouth of her cave for a 
 while, but the old birds were too shy. .She could
 
 252 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 never get them to come near enough to sprinkle salt 
 on their tails. Then began the race over the length 
 and breadth of Europe. Her first desire was a 
 Prince. She rose one somewhere down in Eouma- 
 nia, I believe. That recalls—" Valery laughed— 
 " her primeval name. Back in the dark ages, before 
 she had all those husbands, it was Gordon. As his 
 first wife was Scotch, he thought he would not try 
 another of the canny Hielanders. That did for 
 her with the Prince, and his bones did not whiten 
 round her cave, much! Mamasha tried all sorts of 
 bait for all sorts of game. Finally she wandered 
 over to Bussia, and there she bagged her General, one 
 without even a patent of nobility." 
 
 "No one has a better position than an army officer, 
 I suppose," said Quentin, who listened politely, 
 although he had heard much of this before from 
 Yalery. 
 
 "Yes, if he had been. Don't know what the deuce 
 he was. Whether general luggage-agent or general 
 whipper-in to the serfs, when they crossed the 
 steppes. At all events, I'll do him the credit to say 
 that he was a kind old party, and as gold or silver or 
 some kind of product had been discovered on some 
 land of his somewhere, he sold out to the government 
 and shook the Tzar. He was very kind to Mamasha, 
 and the little girls, as well as to Bruno and Halle. 
 They all piled right on to him. It was pretty 
 hard on the old man when he found that Mamasha 
 had elected him as Director-General of a regular or- 
 phan asylum, but Mamasha has no shame, and finally 
 the General, simply worn out by the nursery busi- 
 ness, just laid himself down and died like little Betty 
 Pringle. This relieved the situation. Mamasha had
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 253 
 
 now quite a little bit of property. She could go 
 where she pleased and pose as an interesting widow 
 for the second or third time. My ancient history 
 doesn't go back of Carleton." 
 
 " Come up here, Valery , and bring Mr. Quentin with 
 you," called Madame from her seclusion upon the 
 hillside. There was an anxious note in her voice. 
 
 "In a minute, Mamasha dear, when I catch this 
 one I am after and one more," called Valery, then 
 dropped his voice again. " She had a very comfort- 
 able sum, and she could travel about without any very 
 great expenditure. She took those girls to all the 
 watering-places on the French coast. She threw 
 them at every man she saw, but she didn't have to 
 make a cast very often, before I came by. I dropped 
 to my little wife at the first throw, and I was never 
 sad a day in my life until I lost her." Valery puffed 
 away silently. He did not speak for some time, con- 
 tenting himself with aimless casts of the fly, careless 
 as to whether he succeeded in catching anything or 
 not. When he at last spoke his voice trembled and 
 his eye was moist. 
 
 "She's buried up there on the hill, poor little 
 Allaire, near the General. Alixe would have it so, as 
 soon as she came to live at the Abbey. Little Al- 
 laire's memory's always green with me. Mamasha 
 keeps the General's memory green by digging the moss 
 out of the title. A title's a big thing until you can 
 snatch a bigger, one." Valery shrugged his shoul- 
 ders toward Madame and Lord Eldon and again 
 threw his fly up-stream. 
 
 St. Aubin and Halle, strange personalities at a 
 child's picnic, talked apart. The Baroness and Made- 
 moiselle embroidered and sketched, Alixe and Gartha
 
 254 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 occasionally cheering their solitude a deux by a pass- 
 ing remark, or a stop for a few moments in their 
 neighborhood, but the spontaneity and intimacy of 
 the house party appeared to be broken up. 
 
 It seemed a relief to every one but Gartha when it 
 came time to return home, and the different members 
 of the picnic party got into the char-a-bancs and the 
 landau with a sigh of relief, and with no backward 
 look at the ground where they had spent most of the 
 day. All but Gartha. 
 
 "Alixe," she said, "I have had a perfectly lovely 
 time, so good a time I have not esperienced not since 
 quand j'etais gosse."
 
 XXYII. 
 
 Quentin did not seek Alixe again. He was to leave 
 the Abbey on the morrow; of what use? He sat 
 upon his small balcony late into the evening, and 
 watched far into the night, but nothing of either the 
 natural or supernatural world came to disturb him. 
 He arose with the sun. The early breakfast was to 
 be a hurried meal, that the departing guests might 
 catch their train. Quentin had promised to return 
 with Lord Eldon to England ; beyond that, he had not 
 planned. 
 
 When he had drunk his coffee, listening mean- 
 while to Madame 's voluble expressions of regret that 
 he must leave the Abbey so soon, said in exactly the 
 same tone in which he had heard her speak to Lord 
 Eldon as they stood under the tree upon the terrace, 
 apparently alone, he went to the chateau, to find the 
 servants for the purpose of leaving with them that 
 generous tip which Americans can never learn is the 
 ruin of all foreigners of that class. He passed through 
 the salon and into the dining room, but the place was 
 empty. He was about to retrace his steps when he 
 heard a voice that he knew. It was merely a sound 
 that he had heard, but the sound was one of pain, 
 and then he caught the words : 
 
 "Do not do that again, Bruno." The voice was 
 that of Alixe. The tone was so decided that he 
 waited, irresolute, wondering whether he ought to 
 interfere. And then he stood silent, feeling that the
 
 256 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 time had come when he had the right to listen. The 
 next words that he heard were : 
 
 " You will cause me to leave the Abbey, Bruno. I 
 will not bear it. " 
 
 Quentin moved toward the open window. His 
 footsteps were now heard by those without. 
 
 " Who is that? " called St. Aubin. 
 
 Quentin stepped quickly out upon the balcony. 
 St. Aubin and Alixe were standing there. He was 
 just releasing her wrist from his ringers. As he did 
 so, Quentin, whose eyes were everywhere at this 
 juncture, saw that the white skin bore a red mark, 
 and that she at once clasped the reddened wrist with 
 her other hand, whether to hide the signs of vio- 
 lence, or to soothe the wounded member, he could 
 not tell. 
 
 St. Aubin twisted his ugly features into the sem- 
 blance of a smile. 
 
 "Pardon me," said Quentin, "I am looking for 
 Charles." 
 
 "Always arriving at the opportune moment, Mr. 
 Quentin," said St. Aubin from between his teeth. 
 "Perhaps you heard my wife crying out just now. 
 Perhaps you thought it was beauty in distress, call- 
 ing upon some true knight to deliver her." 
 
 "I heard voices," said Quentin, "and came out in 
 the hope of finding Charles." His heart was beating 
 tumultuously. He hardly knew what he was doing 
 ■ — was saying. He wondered afterward why he had 
 not seized St. Aubin as he had the priest, and pitched 
 him over the balcony. As he spoke, Alixe passed 
 him without a word. She was very pale. Her eyes 
 were blazing. Turning his back abruptly on St. 
 Aubin, he followed and joined her inside the room,
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 257 
 
 and walked by her side until she had crossed it 
 and had passed through the further door. He found 
 himself within a square hall from which a flight of cir- 
 cular stairs ascended. This was a part of the Abbey 
 into which he had never been asked to penetrate. She 
 took no notice of him, walking so swiftly that he 
 could hardly keep pace with her. As she placed her 
 foot upon the lower stair — 
 
 " One moment ! " he said, " I wish a word with you, 
 before I leave." 
 
 "I shall not come down again, Mr. Quentin. What 
 is it? " 
 
 "I am going away this morning," he replied, 
 "within a few moments." And then, in hurried 
 tones, "Promise me that if ever I can help you, you 
 will send for me. I will come from the uttermost 
 quarter of the earth. Promise me you will — " His 
 voice shook so that she could but note his agitation. 
 He slipped a card underneath a book lying upon the 
 table. " That is my address. It will always find me, 
 'The Travellers.' Promise me — " Alixe did not 
 look at him, she seemed only impatient at being de- 
 tained. When she spoke, her voice was as steady as 
 his was tremulous. 
 
 "Do not leave it," she said, "I shall never send. 
 Good-by." 
 
 Without a hand clasp, without another look, she 
 vanished up the stairway. He stood there until he 
 heard that heavy upper door close upon her. 
 
 "Quentin," called Lord Eldon, "we shall lose our 
 train! Where have you been? " 
 
 17
 
 xxvni. 
 
 " The wedding will come off in November," Lord 
 Eldon had confided to Quentin as they crossed the 
 Channel. "She's a dear little woman. Do you 
 know, Quentin, I thought at one time that you were 
 in my way there, but she assured me that you had 
 never " 
 
 " Oh, no, never ! " Quentin hastened to assert, with 
 perhaps too eager tone ; " not because I do not con- 
 sider her most attractive, but because—" Quentin 
 ceased. Lord Eldon smiled to think how much more 
 successful he had been with the charming widow 
 than had this stalwart young American. 
 
 "I hope it isn't the title," continued the prospec- 
 tive bridegroom, somewhat distrustfully. "She as- 
 sures me," etc., etc., etc., to all of which Quentin 
 listened with an acquiescent smile. "I want to pro- 
 vide a home for her before Bruno makes ducks and 
 drakes of all the remains of a once fine fortune." 
 
 "I thought they were so rich over there," said 
 Quentin. "Miss Spencer gave me to under- 
 stand " 
 
 " Miss Spencer knows absolutely nothing about it, " 
 returned Lord Eldon. "When the Duca di Brazzia 
 married, he had made a will leaving his wife a large 
 fortune, but the second marriage played havoc with 
 that. After St. Aubin's debts were paid, there was 
 nothing more than a comfortable living for them, as
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 259 
 
 we look at tilings over here. Our poor little friend 
 has a difficulty, I fear, in making both ends meet. 
 The Duchess has always let care fall upon her poor 
 little shoulders, and it still goes on. St. Aubin comes 
 whining for money, and Madame gives it to him, at 
 his wife's order. He sees how low the funds have 
 fallen, and he is scrambling round to try to make 
 something himself. That is certainly commendable, 
 but the grand entertainments in Paris last year are 
 what has caused the exchequer of the Duchess to run 
 so low." 
 
 "Are you sure there were grand entertainments?" 
 said Quentin. "Don't you think perhaps " 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes," interrupted Lord Eldon, "for I 
 have been at them, I am ashamed to say, now that 
 I know the truth. Taking the whole Armenonville 
 place and giving a fete. Asking sixty persons to 
 breakfast at the Bitz. You cannot do this for noth- 
 ing. Taking the Marquis of Alderney's yacht and 
 filling it with people who play nothing but baccarat, 
 at which Bruno is a very unlucky player, not to speak 
 of the colossal debts that he incurred during his 
 cousin's widowhood, all this is not conducive to pil- 
 ing up a fortune, as you Americans say. He has 
 done some dirty tricks also. I have heard that he 
 has had her casket of jewels reset entirely with 
 paste." 
 
 Lord Eldon and his guest arrived at Eldon Towers 
 late in the afternoon, and after a change of travel- 
 stained garments, Quentin descended the stairs to be 
 presented to Lord Eldon's sister, Lady Alfred Car- 
 stairs, and to find a table set with tea and a cheering 
 assortment of hot dishes. His thoughts carried him 
 back at a bound to that other tea table set within the
 
 260 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 walls of the ruined Abbey, a spot which he felt now 
 that he had visited for the last time. 
 
 The room was pleasantly filled with people, to 
 some of whom Quentin was made known. He looked 
 in vain for a familiar face, and was just seating him- 
 self upon a distant sofa, cup in hand, when his ears 
 were greeted with : 
 
 ; 'You dear thing! Where did you come from? 
 Lady Alfred never told me that " 
 
 "I told you that Eldon was bringing a friend, 
 Ada," called Lady Alfred, from her seat at the table, 
 as she caught these words pronounced in Miss Spen- 
 cer's high-pitched key. 
 
 Miss Spencer seated herself at once by the stran- 
 ger, taking possession of him, so to speak, with both 
 manner and voice. 
 
 "You know I told you we should meet again. 
 And to think that you have followed me all the way 
 from the Abbey " 
 
 "Isn't that what all your adorers do?" said Quen- 
 tin gayly, shaking hands with the only person in 
 the room whom he had ever seen before. "You can't 
 think how I have looked forward to this meeting, 
 Miss Spencer," said he, in his most flirtatious tones. 
 Life was ended for him. Let him make the most of 
 the dregs that remained. 
 
 "You dear thing," said Miss Spencer, "it is nice 
 to see you. Did ce cher Bruno succeed in blowing 
 you up over there in that dreary old Abbey? And 
 did you fall in love with Alixe, like all the rest of 
 the men? Ah ! There you are, Lord Eldon. I hear 
 great things of you and Mamasha. They say you 
 never left her doubly-widowed side by day or " 
 
 Lady Alfred looked quickly up. She had one son.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 261 
 
 Failing an heir to Lord Eldon, her boy would come 
 into the title and the estates. 
 
 "Sugar, Mr. Poncefort? " she said. "What's that, 
 Eldon? Who is it? What did you say, Ada? 
 Mamasha? What a remarkable name ! " Lord El- 
 don was very red in the face and very angry all over. 
 
 "If you are speaking of Madame Petrofsky, Miss 
 Spencer," he said, as coldly as his hot anger would 
 allow, " I can only say that she is a very dear friend 
 of mine, and I can see no reason why her pet name, 
 used only in her own family, should be spoken by 
 you here before all these people." 
 
 "But she's a dear friend of mine," returned the 
 lively young woman, her tone simulating astonish- 
 ment. " I always call her Mamasha, Lord Eldon. I 
 call her so to her face. Which I venture to say is 
 more than he does," she whispered in an aside to 
 Quentin. "What is it? Has she really hooked him 
 at last, as you Americans say? How furious Lady 
 Alfred will be? " Her words implied that Madame's 
 eagerly hunted quarry had been Lord Eldon. What 
 man is without a spark of vanity? Quentin felt a 
 slight sense of annoyance — although he had not re- 
 sponded as fully perhaps as was expected of him to 
 Madame's kindness of manner — that any one should 
 imagine that the opportunity had not been his had 
 he chosen to grasp it. 
 
 Miss Spencer laughed. 
 
 "I see what the trouble is," she said. "The best 
 of men are vain. Mamasha didn't make advances 
 enough. Why, do you know, Mr. Quentin, I really 
 thought she heard you say your prayers, and tucked 
 you up every night." This was in whispered tones 
 which Lord Eldon sidled near to catch if possible.
 
 262 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Poor little Mamaslia ! She is going to be My Lady 
 at last. Oh! you needn't take the trouble to deny 
 it. I see it in his beaming smile, and his anger at 
 my harmless remark." Quentin remained silent, 
 though his vacuous look was almost an affirmation. 
 
 "I think they're a perfect pack of fools over there 
 in that precious Abbey," continued Miss Spencer, 
 turning her back on the others and addressing herself 
 exclusively to Quentin. " Just imagine Alixe giving 
 Bruno money to throw away ! When I used to re- 
 monstrate with her she would say with that saintly 
 smile of hers, ' Poor Bruno ! It gives him so much 
 pleasure, and he is not as fortunate as most people. 
 Then, too, he thinks that a small fortune properly 
 invested now will make a large fortune in the future. 
 I tell him that I have plenty for both, but Bruno has 
 really a great deal of pride.' That's Miss Alixe! 
 Now, did you ever hear of such an absurdity, Mr. 
 Quentin, sending good money after bad? I never 
 could understand why Bruno is too good to live on 
 his wife's money. All the other men do. I have 
 heard lately that, after paying his debts, she really is 
 crippled. The debts were colossal, and now he thinks 
 he is going to make it up in some way. I don't 
 think it makes a scrap of difference who has the 
 money, do you, Mr. Quentin? Whether he's Span- 
 ish, American, bond or free, man or woman." And 
 Miss Spencer nestled confidingly nearer to the good- 
 looking American. 
 
 "No," he said, "I don't know that it does. What 
 do you mean by Spanish, American, bond or free? " 
 
 " Oh, it's only my way of rattling on. That dear 
 family over there does require so much explanation. 
 Ce cher Bruno is a Spaniard, didn't you know it?
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 263 
 
 I've told you that before, but what I say seems to 
 make very little impression." 
 
 "Yes, I've heard it, but with the surname of St. 
 Aubin?" 
 
 " How stupid of you, Mr. Quentin ! And why not? 
 You may meet any amount of Frenchmen with Ger- 
 man, Italian, or even English surnames. Your own 
 name must have been French. Probably St. Quen- 
 tin." 
 
 Quentin admitted the fact. 
 
 "There! See how careless yon Americans are. 
 Dropping a handsome prefix like ' St. ' If I had a 
 name or a prefix to conjure with, do you suppose that 
 I would go about with such a common-place name as 
 mine r 
 
 "I consider Spencer a very distinguished name," 
 said Quentin politely. 
 
 " Yes, but we don't belong to that family, you see. 
 Now you wouldn't care at all. You Americans are 
 so different to us." 
 
 "So " 
 
 "Different. So different to us. What did you 
 think I said? " 
 
 " I thought you said different from, but it makes 
 no difference ; I believe grammatical errors are fash- 
 ionable over here." 
 
 "I consider that distinctly saucy," said Miss Spen- 
 cer, moving away. 
 
 "Don't go," said Quentin; "come back and tell 
 me if you have not heard from the Abbey lately." 
 
 "I have heard," said Miss Spencer, "and news 
 that will somewhat surprise you, but until you learn 
 to behave yourself, and not insult a British subject, 
 I shall tell you nothing."
 
 XXIX. 
 
 On the following day Quentin tried all means of 
 pacification with Miss Spencer, but failed signally. 
 It was not until two or three mornings after his con- 
 versation with her that she thawed sufficiently to 
 allow him to sit on the same bench with her, under 
 a spreading oak, and revert to the occupants of 
 l'Abbaye de Bref. So long as he could not remain 
 at the Abbey, he was glad to find himself in a place 
 where he could see some one whom he knew, and 
 who was interested in its inhabitants. Miss Spencer 
 considered that several days of banishment of the 
 best-looking man in the house was quite sufficient, 
 considering that no one else at the Towers thought it 
 worth while to snub the stranger ; and, seeing that a 
 certain Lady Kate found Quentin extremely agree- 
 able, and that her absences with him on long walks 
 about the place were becoming somewhat marked, 
 Miss Spencer felt that the time had come to thaw. 
 She found, a fact which did not give her any particu- 
 lar satisfaction, that a word about the Abbey was 
 enough to draw him near, and though she was in- 
 wardly provoked at the thought, she used her bait 
 judiciously, so that it came about that Lady Kate, one 
 morning, much to her chagrin, saw the two seated 
 upon the shady bench, Quentin evidently so engrossed 
 that he did Dot even see her as she passed them by. 
 Lady Kate happened to be a young woman of un-
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 265 
 
 bounded curiosity, and the sentence that she caught 
 as she walked slowly past Miss Spencer and Quentin, 
 did not in the least allay that curiosity. 
 
 "Did you ever discover," asked Miss Spencer, in 
 rather louder tones than were necessary to carry to 
 Lady Kate's listening ear, "what they were doing 
 over there in the chalet at night? " 
 
 "What who were doing?" questioned Quentin in 
 turn. " I lived in the chalet and I was sleeping prin- 
 cipally." 
 
 "I don't mean you, of course. I know all about 
 that, even to Mamasha's religious training of her 
 latest acquisition. I know you said you slept. I 
 mean that precious Bruno and his pious assistant, 
 that priestly imp of darkness. My room overlooked 
 the terrace. It was next to the one Alixe has always 
 occupied, the Abbess's room, you know, with the 
 iron doors. I wouldn't have slept in that bed for an 
 American fortune. The most ghostly, ghastly, weird 
 thing ! It looks like the Great Bed of Ware. Just 
 the sort of thing you are shown in the houses where 
 Elizabeth stopped, when she made her progresses. 
 It had to be large, I suppose, to keep pace with the 
 room. That, I believe, is almost the size of the great 
 salon. Even in the room they gave me, not such a 
 desert waste as the Abbess's, but big and gloomy 
 as a barn, I always had my maid sleep on the 
 lounge." 
 
 "Why?" asked Quentin. 
 
 "As if you didn't know the stories! Not that I 
 ever saw anything, but you know They never come 
 to two persons together." 
 
 "Who?" asked Quentin. 
 
 "Oh, come now," returned Miss Spencer, with an
 
 266 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 incredulous look in her eyes, "you know very well 
 what I am talking about." 
 
 'You know the Towers is haunted, don't you?" 
 asked Quentin. 
 
 ' Yes, the other wing. I never sleep there. In 
 fact, this visiting at swell country places is the most 
 wearing process; it's going to be my death. Now 
 don't you think I've fallen off, really? I go to these 
 ghostly old houses and never sleep a wink, and the 
 consequence is that I'm so sleepy all day that I'm 
 dreadfully dull. Just as I get accustomed to my sur- 
 roundings, and find that They're not coming to 
 frighten me, or that They appear in the other part of 
 the house, my time is up, and I have to move on, and 
 then it is worse than ever. Come, now ! Tell me why 
 those lights were burning in broad daylight " 
 
 "Probably fell asleep and forgot to put them out," 
 said Quentin carelessly. 
 
 " Yery likely. Now, what do you suppose was the 
 reason? " 
 
 " The same reason as your own — afraid ! " said he, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Miss Spencer, "not two of them. 
 They were up to some dark and deadly deeds." 
 
 "He always spoke very freely of his chemicals," 
 said Quentin, who, much as he disliked St. Aubin, 
 did not care to discuss his methods with Miss Spen- 
 cer, after having been a guest of the house where he 
 was at least nominal head. 
 
 "Haven't you any idea?" pursued his questioner. 
 
 Quentin was silent. 
 
 "Not the slightest?" 
 
 "I can't see anything so mysterious about it," said 
 Quentin." "Of course if you were afraid of his ex.-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 267 
 
 periments, you were right to leave the Abbey, but 
 Lord Eldon and I remained some days later, and we 
 escaped alive, as you see." 
 
 "He may not have been making experiments at 
 all," acquiesced Miss Spencer. 
 
 "This much I know. Those great carboys that 
 came just before you all flew away in such terror 
 were filled with St. Evian." 
 
 Miss Spencer burst into a fit of laughter so shrill 
 that Lady Kate, who was talking with the gardener 
 in the near neighborhood, started at the sound and 
 looked toward the couple. 
 
 "I believe Harry Ware was right," said she when 
 she could speak. 
 
 "Harry Ware? " said Quentin inquiringly. 
 
 " You never saw him. He was there the week be- 
 fore you came. He was another of dear Mamasha's 
 discoveries. He was full of Americanisms, a perfect 
 little cad. How they stood him I do not see." 
 
 "Gartha thought him charming," said Quentin. 
 He fell to laughing softly, recalling Gartha' s words 
 and manner as she repeated the words, " That is the 
 last of Hen— e — ry Ware." 
 
 "I learned lots of Americanisms from him," con- 
 tinued Miss Spencer. " I am never quite sure what 
 the different ones mean, but I think they are lovely 
 all the same." 
 
 Quentin listened, an amused smile upon his lips. 
 
 " I have been stopping in the house of one of your 
 rich Westerners," she continued, "and he very often 
 said that he felt like a busted-up sequence. What is 
 a busted-up sequence, Mr. Quentin? " 
 
 "I never heard of one. Why didn't you ask your 
 Western friend? "
 
 268 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Why ! He did tell me, but I have forgotten. At 
 all events, it is extremely picturesque. Don't you 
 think so? " 
 
 " I don't think anything picturesque that I don't 
 understand," said her listener. 
 
 " And now it seems to me it was a flush. Not a 
 sequence, a flush. A busted-up flush." 
 
 Quentin shook his head. 
 
 "Oh, come now, Mr. Quentin. Don't be so seri- 
 ous. Where were you born? " 
 
 " Near a little town on the North Eiver. " 
 
 " The North Eiver? Is that in Canada? " 
 
 " I ought to have said the Hudson Eiver. I spoke 
 locally." 
 
 "Oh! Hudson's Bay?" 
 
 "No, in New York. I am aware that it's the fash- 
 ion to know nothing about us over here " 
 
 " Now that isn't fair. I may as well say that you 
 know nothing about us. Come, now! Tell me the 
 counties of England? There ! You are silent. Born 
 in New York, you say? How can there be a river 
 in a city, and also a little town and " 
 
 "We have a State called New York." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I have heard so. How large is that? " 
 
 "A little larger than England." 
 
 "How you do like to tease one, Mr. Quentin. I 
 shall go away." 
 
 " It is quite true. I was born in the country near 
 the little village. That was our post-office town. It 
 is a mile away from our house." 
 
 "Oh! Not born in the village! You Americans 
 come up so suddenly! I thought you might have 
 been born in a place like Dillston or Ledley. How 
 large was the village? "
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 269 
 
 "About a thousand people." 
 
 "What were they like? Did you know any of 
 them? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know them all." 
 
 "Know them? Mercy on me ! How terribly dem- 
 ocratic ! " 
 
 "Well, not exactly what you would call knowing 
 them. Rather, they knew me. I grew up there as 
 a lad. I knew every house in the place. I used to 
 run into them as a child " 
 
 " Run into people's houses? How did you dare? " 
 
 " There was no daring about it. They asked me. 
 I knew their children. My grandfather owned their 
 village, besides another farther on ; but of course I 
 didn't take advantage of that. They were all my 
 friends and were glad to have me come." 
 
 "Owned two villages!" exclaimed his listener. 
 " How did he come to? " 
 
 " It was a grant of land given to one of my ances- 
 tors in 1690, I believe. It was granted by William 
 and Mary. The yellow old parchment hangs in my 
 grandfather's hall, queer old signatures, and " 
 
 "Ancestors!" exclaimed Miss Spencer, "I didn't 
 know you had any over there." 
 
 "We can't help it," Quentin smiled teasingly. 
 "We don't all believe in either the protoplasm or 
 the Darwinian theory. I know we haven't any rights 
 in the way of having ancestors, but we had to de- 
 scend from somebody, we couldn't all be hod-car- 
 riers, there wouldn't be hods enough, you see." 
 
 "Don't be nasty, Mr. Quentin," pleaded Miss 
 Spencer, settling down again. " I really am inter- 
 ested to learn all about you. I wish you would tell 
 me some more Americanisms. Harry Ware told me
 
 270 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 some more. Oh, yes, I remember one," and Miss 
 Spencer mentioned some words which are seldom 
 heard by ears polite. 
 
 "What queer people your friend must know," re- 
 marked Quentin carelessly. "Isn't it a pity that 
 while he is there he shouldn't try to know the best? " 
 
 " Is it really so bad? " said Miss Spencer aston- 
 ished. "I thought it was only an Americanism! 
 Come, now, don't be nasty ! He did not say that 
 your President and Parliament used it habitually, 
 but he said " 
 
 " Did he tell you anything about the slave States 
 of Vermont and about our smearing corn with mo- 
 lasses and eating it? I've heard a tale something 
 like that over here; but, come, Miss Spencer, don't 
 let us indulge in unpleasant personalities as regards 
 our respective countries. I am sure I am devoted to 
 you and yours. Tell me, to change the subject, have 
 you heard from your friends across the Channel of 
 late?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," returned Miss Spencer with a superior 
 tone ; " I had a letter from Madame only two or three 
 days ago." 
 
 " And you never told me? " 
 
 " Why should I tell you? Besides, we were not on 
 speaking terms." 
 
 " You mean that you were not. I was always your 
 bounden slave. Tell me how things are going at the 
 Abbey." 
 
 Quentin spoke with an assumption of carelessness ; 
 in reality his heart was thumping violently, and there 
 was a rushing sound so loud in his ears that it al- 
 most drowned Miss Spencer's reply. 
 
 "The Abbey is closed," she said.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 271 
 
 • What ! What did you say ? " 
 
 "The Abbey is closed." 
 
 " Closed? The Abbey is closed? How long has it 
 been closed?" 
 
 "Oh, it's been closed since just after you left. 
 That very day, I think, or the next. I heard it from 
 Mademoiselle. Mr. Valery has taken Gartha over to 
 see some relatives. Bruno has flown away on one of 
 those mysterious trips of his, dear, pretty, playful, lit- 
 tle bear that he is ! That dreadful priest has gone in 
 hiding. Mamasha bundled every one out, neck and 
 crop, after you left. The poor old Baroness will 
 have to sit in front of Maxim's now, if she wants to 
 catch a glimpse of her Baron. Mamasha and Made- 
 moiselle have gone into an apartment. Mademoi- 
 selle says that Mamasha seems to be buying out the 
 shops: Pacquin, Raudnitz, Au Gagne Petit, Louvre, 
 all's fish that comes to Mamasha's net." 
 
 "You have not mentioned — mentioned — Al — Ma- 
 dame—Madame St. Au— the— the— Duch — " stam- 
 mered Quentin helplessly. 
 
 "Don't flounder so! It's really distressing! I 
 don't wonder you don't know her name. It never 
 seems to me as if Alixe had a name. What ! Haven't 
 you heard about her? " 
 
 "Heard about her?" the color left Quentin's 
 cheek. His breath came thick. 
 
 "You, too," said Miss Spencer, surveying him 
 coolly. "Well, I'm not astonished. They are all 
 like that. I don't know why it is, she certainly has 
 no beauty, and she's so " 
 
 "She has gone? Where?" 
 
 "That's just the point," said his informant. "No- 
 body knows."
 
 272 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Nobody knows?" 
 
 Miss Spencer shook her head. She had never been 
 of such deep interest to Quentin before. She in- 
 tended to keep him in that frame of mind as long 
 as possible. 
 
 "Surely you know something." 
 
 " This is the story that Mademoiselle wrote me — 
 Now, this is a lesson to you. Don't quarrel with your 
 best friend. Had you treated me properly " 
 
 " And Mademoiselle said " 
 
 " Mademoiselle said that early on the morning that 
 you resolved to leave the Abbey, she had break- 
 fasted, and was sitting in her window doing what she 
 calls a sketch, one of those interminable daubs of 
 hers, I suppose " 
 
 " Her window ! Where is her window? " 
 
 "Just over the little balcony outside the small 
 breakfast room. She said that she was quite busy, 
 and not thinking particularly of the chateau or its 
 inhabitants, when suddenly she heard voices under- 
 neath. She listened, without listening, until she 
 heard your name. You know perhaps that ce cher 
 Bruno did you the honor to be jealous of you. Then, 
 when she heard your name, she began to listen. She 
 hates Bruno almost as badly as Gartha does, and she 
 is one of the few women who adore Alixe. I suppose 
 that Alixe's interfering with her is so remote a possi- 
 bilitv " 
 
 "And then " 
 
 " Suddenly she heard a scream. She said it was 
 a sort of subdued scream. I don't read French very 
 well, but I gather that it sounded as if Alixe couldn't 
 help it, as if she tried to suppress it. Then she 
 heard another — Mademoiselle, I mean. She leaned
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 273 
 
 out of her window very cautiously, for fear that 
 Bruno should spy her, you know in what mortal 
 terror they all stand of Bruno, and she saw that 
 Bruno had the wrist of Alixe in his yellow fingers, 
 and was twisting it round as far as he could, so far, 
 in fact, that he had brought her to her knees. She 
 heard Alixe say in tones of increased passion, yes, 
 these were the words, ' Acces de colere! ' — 'Coward! 
 You coward ! ' she said, ' let me go ! ' Oh, you 
 needn't be worried. I don't believe he got anything 
 out of Alixe. She has the obstinacy of a mule." 
 
 Quentin spoke very fast and monotonously. 
 
 "Well, well, tell me at once, do you hear? At 
 once, where she has gone? " 
 
 " Oh, now ! was it going to lash itself into a rage, 
 and thrash about, and go into hysterics? Calm its 
 little self, do ! " 
 
 "Will you tell me, or shall I go to Lord Eldon? " 
 Quentin started as if to rise. 
 
 "Bless you, he doesn't know! Nobody knows. 
 They haven't the most remote glimmering of an idea. 
 Mamasha doesn't care, because she has other fish to 
 fry, and the fire may go out. Is it the old gentle- 
 man? Do tell me. I had designs in that direction 
 myself, but if Mamasha has her clutch on him " 
 
 " Did she leave no message? " 
 
 "Who, Mamasha? Oh, you mean Alixe! No, the 
 place is as empty as my pocket. There is no one left 
 there but the servants. Even the superior Barker is 
 gone." 
 
 " Did she leave the Abbey before Madame Petrof- 
 sky?" was Quentin's next question. 
 
 "Yes, she left first, between two days, Mademoi- 
 selle said. And then the dear little Bruno left. 
 18
 
 274 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Don't you love him for his grotesqueness? I should 
 like to have him for a pet; it would be just like hav- 
 ing a mongoose or a hyena, wouldn't it? You needn't 
 hurry me so," — in answer to a flash from Quentin's 
 eye, — "after she had shaken the dust from her soul 
 — soles, I mean " 
 
 "Then? Then? Then?" 
 
 " Then that surly priest went off, faded away, they 
 said, as if he never had been. He was positively of 
 no use at a house party. You couldn't get up a flir- 
 tation with him to save your soul. Then Mamasha 
 bundled the rest of them out, and the place is given 
 over to the ghosts." 
 
 " Where can she be? " exclaimed Quentin, half 
 rising. 
 
 " Who? Mamasha? Somewhere up near the Arc, 
 I believe, near the Champs Elysees, Rue Balzac, I 
 think ; or no ! It's the other side, Avenue de l'Alma. 
 At all events, I will give you the address, if you want 
 to write " 
 
 " I do not mean Madame ; I mean " 
 
 "Oh, Alixe! That I can't tell you. How often 
 must I repeat it ! She has hidden her trail so well 
 that even Bruno can't find her. Poor little cub ! I 
 wouldn't be married to Alixe for all the fortunes of 
 the, Orient. She's always up in the clouds, always in 
 heroics, mourning over the dead, or the living, or " 
 
 Quentin was not listening to Miss Spencer, he was 
 wondering, wondering, wondering, and his surmises 
 brought to him no answer. Had she but sent for 
 him as he had asked her to do ! But, of course, she 
 could not send for him, the thought was absurd. 
 Miss Spencer's voice was going on, though he hardly 
 heard it.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 275 
 
 "Alixe always was a perfect idiot. The idea of 
 letting Mamasha take enough of her fortune to pay 
 Bruno's debts. They say that Mamasha, dear little 
 honest soul, stowed enough away to keep herself 
 going. Alixe knows nothing about money ; so little, 
 that they say she still thinks herself rich. This I 
 have just heard from Mademoiselle. She hates Ma- 
 masha, though she has to live with her. You know 
 one must live, and she would die anywhere else, for 
 no one would have her, she " 
 
 Miss Spencer's stream of words was brought to a 
 standstill by Quentin, who had risen. 
 
 " I am going to Paris this afternoon, Miss Spen- 
 cer," he said. "Can I take a message to Madame 
 Petrofsky for you? " 
 
 " Going to Paris ! " she gasped, rising in her turn, 
 and discovering too late that the very means which 
 she had taken to keep him were hurrying him away 
 from Eldon Towers. 
 
 "Where can I find a time-table?" he said; and 
 started impetuously toward the house. Miss Spencer 
 found herself forced to accompany him across the 
 lawn in a most undignified gait. 
 
 "Don't race so," she said, "I can't get my breath. 
 You can't get away until after lunch, that I know. 
 I hardly know if you will be able to catch the night 
 boat. You don't really mean it? " 
 
 ' Yes, I certainly do mean it. I will go and tell 
 my man. Meantime, if you will just write down 
 Madame Petrofsky 's address for me, I shall be 
 obliged."
 
 XXX. 
 
 As Quentin left Eldon Towers, Miss Spencer handed 
 him a folded paper. She did this with an air of pro- 
 prietorship which enraged one or two onlookers, who 
 knew as well as Miss Spencer herself that she had 
 no proprietary rights vested in this good-looking 
 stranger. But to their astonishment he seized upon 
 the paper as if it were the deed of a gold mine, and 
 thanked the giver effusively, almost tenderly. This 
 puzzled those who saw it, and caused Miss Spencer 
 to chuckle to herself for the next few days. " Even 
 if you can't have a thing," she mused, "it is just as 
 well to make other people think you've got it. It 
 enhances your value." 
 
 Quentin crossed from Southampton in one of those 
 particularly dirty boats which make one feel that 
 England still lives in the dark ages, so far as travel 
 is concerned, but the journey was made more quickly 
 in this way because of the proximity of Eldon Tow- 
 ers to the lines running to that ancient and smoke- 
 begrimed city. He had wired for a room on board 
 the boat, but when he reached the wharf he found 
 that the only one had been given to a woman with 
 a little ailing child. Naturally, there was nothing to 
 be said. 
 
 "Where are those fine boats," he asked of a dirty 
 cabin boy, "which this company advertises exten- 
 sively as crossing every night to France? " He
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 277 
 
 was answered that they'd been "took hoff to run 
 to the Channel h'islands as the ter'havel was so 
 'eavy." 
 
 The night was dark and rainy, the soot was falling 
 everywhere, and when Quentin arose in the morning, 
 the light grey suit in which he had travelled was a 
 mass of streaks and blotches. He had obtained the 
 seclusion which he desired by a liberal douceur to 
 the captain, who must probably remain up all night, 
 as the weather was very thick and foggy. The boat 
 arrived at Havre too late for the Paris train, and he 
 must fain content himself with rebellious patience for 
 some hours, until another train should start. He 
 reached Paris late in the afternoon, and when he had 
 removed the signs of travel he left his hotel, and 
 went in search of Madame. 
 
 Quentin drove to the apartment house whose ad- 
 dress Miss Spencer had given him. He asked for 
 Madame Petrofsky, and almost pushed past the con- 
 cierge in his haste to mount the stairs. The woman 
 looked astonished, and said at once that the lady did 
 not live there. 
 
 "But she does live here," replied Quentin. "Here 
 is her address." The concierge took the paper, 
 turned it upside down, and wrong side up, studied 
 the enigmatical English screed, and then repeated 
 that the lady did not live at No. 37. 
 
 "Who is living in the house? " asked Quentin im- 
 peratively. 
 
 " In the entresol was a French family. Au premier 
 was the American consul. These Americans always 
 took the finest floor and paid the highest prices. 
 Why, only yesterday, if Monsieur would believe it, 
 Henri went just across the Champs Elysees on a
 
 278 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 small errand, and when he returned the American 
 monsieur gave him one franc fifty " 
 
 " Have you no idea where Madame Petrofsky lives? 
 A Kussian lady accompanied by a small French 
 lady?" Here Quentin recalled Gartha's description 
 of the Weasel, and was almost minded to recite, " Elle 
 est caracterisee de la maniere suivante." However, 
 his description was a minute one, which would not 
 have sounded exactly flattering to Mademoiselle had 
 she heard it. Madame was described with the same 
 minuteness, but she came off better at his hands. 
 Still, the pleasant-faced concierge smiled and shook 
 her head and insisted that no such ladies lived in the 
 house, that Monsieur must have deceived himself, 
 the address must be wrong. These English had 
 much to learn in the matter of writing. " Sale An- 
 glais ! " muttered the concierge under her breath, not 
 quite sure of her ground, through not having learned 
 that Monsieur belonged to the lavish, English-speak- 
 ing, American nation. Quentin put some money into 
 her hand to encourage her memory. 
 
 " Are there no Russian ladies living in this street 
 or in this block? " 
 
 "How can I say, Monsieur? Does the Monsieur 
 expect me to know all the ladies who come to take 
 the apartments for a little while in the street or in 
 the square?" her smile growing more broad as she 
 hastily slipped the douceur within her capacious 
 pocket, to avoid the lynx eyes of her husband, who 
 just then appeared in the court. Quentin went to 
 the next house and then the next, but with no suc- 
 cess. He then dismissed his cab, and going to a 
 nearby telegraph station, he wired to Miss Spencer 
 at Eldon Towers, " I cannot find Madame Petrofsky
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 279 
 
 at that address. Have you not made a mistake? 
 Please wire correct address at once." Like most 
 men with one idea and an uncontracted bank account, 
 he left no chance for misunderstanding because of 
 curtailing his sentences. To make sure of a reply 
 he added, " Answer. Twenty words paid," signed his 
 name, gave his hotel address, and then started off at 
 railway speed, he had not considered where. 
 
 After ten minutes' walk he found himself in the 
 Cours la Heine. He looked about him with as much 
 astonishment as that which possesses a Frenchman 
 who knows nothing but his own quarter ; but for the 
 moment all places were alike to him. The discom- 
 fort of the all-pervading dust which was flying from 
 the buildings in process of being erected for the 
 great Exposition caused him to look about for an- 
 other cab. He had passed the stand at the corner 
 of the Avenue Montaigne, and as, at the moment, one 
 of those Juggernauts, a French tram-car or train of 
 cars, came along, lumbering and groaning and clear- 
 ing the way with its irrepressible tooting horn, Quen- 
 tin with a quick bound was upon the step, and climb- 
 ing to the top, unheeding the remonstrance of the 
 guard, who informed him with a very serious tone 
 that he might have been killed by so daring an act. 
 Quentin laughed in his face, whereupon the guard, 
 not wishing to create a scene with so well dressed a 
 man, shrugged his shoulders, muttering, " Crazy Eng- 
 lish," and returned without further remonstrance to 
 the taking of fares. Quentin walked to the front and 
 took a vacant seat just behind the driver. His back 
 was toward the river, his face toward the driveway. 
 He was ruminating deeply. " Why should Miss Spen- 
 cer have given me the wrong address? What could
 
 280 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 have been the reason? Was it purposely done? " 
 Quentin took the paper from his breast pocket, and 
 again scrutinized the address. No, he was right. 
 There it stood, 37 as plain as possible. Suddenly 
 he thought, " "Why did I not telegraph to Lord Eldon? 
 He would have known. If Alixe is in Paris, I must 
 see her some time, but Madame must know her 
 whereabouts. It cannot be that she is ignorant of 
 
 her own daughter's address — I must see " 
 
 A carriage was whirling swiftly past in the oppo- 
 site direction. Quentin at first regarded it absently, 
 and then he suddenly rose in his seat calling, " Stop ! 
 Stop ! " and began to push frantically along to the 
 back of the car, for in that carriage sat the object of 
 his thoughts. She was with a man, and that man 
 the Archbishop. Quentin had hardly recognized her 
 before he saw that he too was recognized by her. 
 He ran, he called, he stared, he pushed past the pas- 
 sengers, like the crazy man to whom the guard had 
 likened him, and as he ran, he waved his hand to 
 her. She did not smile nor did she call the attention 
 of the Archbishop to him. It was but for a moment, 
 and then it was the back of the landau at which he 
 was staring blindly, as he felt his way down the 
 stairs. There was a tussle at the foot as he tried to 
 spring to the ground. This he succeeded in doing, 
 notwithstanding the rage of the guard, who threat- 
 ened him with certain arrest and demanded his card, 
 but he was still threatening, still demanding, as Quen- 
 tin had thrown himself into a passing fiacre and was 
 whirled away after a landau which was going rapidly 
 up the Cours la Heine. Although his cocher had 
 been ordered to drive like a gentleman not mentioned 
 in polite history, the coming Exposition was a factor
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 281 
 
 in his discomfiture. The great scaffoldings, the piles 
 of earth, the enormous wagons which were unload- 
 ing jangling, crashing bars of iron on to the pave- 
 ment, all blocked his way, and when he turned into 
 the Avenue Montaigne, he saw to his confusion that 
 there were several carriages ahead of him. He chose 
 one which had, he thought, a familiar aspect, and its 
 chase led him to the Champs Elysees. The cocher, 
 by dint of beating his poor little horse, and in view 
 of the liberal offers of pourboire, managed to follow 
 the landau closely, and Quentin came up abreast of 
 it and was lost, as it rolled across into the Rue Wash- 
 ington, for as he agitatedly turned to see whom the 
 carriage contained, he found only an aged dowager 
 inside, and two very fat poodle dogs looking out aim- 
 lessly on either side. With a sharp word at his ill 
 luck, he ordered the cab turned about, and drove to 
 his hotel, there to wait an answer to his message to 
 Miss Spencer.
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Quentin sat in his hotel all that evening, waiting 
 for the answer which was to make the world rose- 
 colored again for him. No such occurrence came to 
 cheer him, however, and he went to bed, angry with 
 the world and Miss Spencer, and Madame in particu- 
 lar; Madame, his whilom friend. It was strange that 
 she had not written him of her flight from the Abbey. 
 Why had not Lord Eldon told him of it? The only 
 answer to this was that Englishmen are proverbially 
 reticent, and Lord Eldon might not have thought 
 that the subject was of interest to Quentin. When 
 day came, he went at once to the telegraph office. 
 He wired Miss Spencer again and received this pro- 
 voking answer: "Did not wire name hotel. Must 
 made a mistake. Possibly wrote seven for nine." 
 This was as Sanscrit to Quentin. He saw now very 
 plainly that Miss Spencer had not intended to let 
 him have Madame 's address, if she could prevent it. 
 He then wired Lord Eldon : " Kindly send me Ma- 
 dame Petrofsky's address in Paris." 
 
 Late on the following day he received an answer 
 from Lady Albert Carstairs : " Have not the most re- 
 mote idea what it is. Eldon gone off to see his 
 uncle. Sudden attack. Dying in Scotland." 
 
 Again he telegraphed, and this time for Lord El- 
 don's address, and after another night of suspense it 
 came to him. A message to Lord Eldon to the Scot-
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 283 
 
 tish address was finally answered, and having spent 
 three fruitless days in Paris, eating his heart out, he 
 at last rang the bell at the number which Lord Eldon 
 had sent him. This time he was ushered into the 
 apartments of Madame Petrof sky, and while awaiting 
 that ladj^'s appearance, which seemed imminent from 
 the sounds of the jerking out and closing of bureau 
 drawers, he went to the window and looked out. 
 Just across the way he gazed down into the pleasant 
 face of the concierge who had assured him but three 
 days before that no such ladies as those whom he 
 sought lived in the street. 
 
 After awhile the rustling and thumping ceased. 
 There was dead quiet for a moment. Quentin could 
 imagine it occupied with those mysteries of the 
 toilet which are accomplished by soft little pats and 
 wipings-off on cheek and chin, and which make no 
 noise while in progress. Then the door opened, and 
 Madame came into the room. She ran toward Quen- 
 tin with a little cry of joy. It warmed his heart, 
 which his good sense told him not to allow. 
 
 " You dear ! " she said, holding his hands in both 
 of hers. " How good it seems to see you again. And 
 how good of you to send me that charming chain. 
 Quite the prettiest thing that I have had thus far. 
 And what are you doing in Paris? " 
 
 "I came to ask you a very important question," 
 answered Quentin; "at least, a question important 
 to me." 
 
 "Sit down, dear friend," said Madame. She ar- 
 ranged herself becomingly against a pillow of Indian 
 red which set off the black lace pleatings about her 
 face and throat. Her back was to the light, a bit of 
 calculation which Quentin did not notice. How
 
 284 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 young she looked, with her trim figure, and chiffons 
 and laces of the most modern type. Quentin, even 
 with other thoughts uppermost, noticed several 
 things about her dress that he had never seen be- 
 fore. She was indeed to be a brand new bride for 
 Lord Eldon. Quentin sat down and faced her. The 
 little light that was allowed to penetrate fell full 
 upon his expressive face, and struck deep into the 
 honest grey eyes. She leaned toward him, her lips 
 trembling, a slight pulsation of her pretty cheek show- 
 ing that she, too, had interesting thoughts. 
 
 "I hesitate," he said, "because it is a subject on 
 which I fear you cannot be in accord with me ; but 
 wrong though it is, and wrongly as I may place my- 
 self within your eyes, I must know the truth." 
 
 Madame raised those beautiful innocent eyes of 
 hers to his. "Tell me what it is, dear friend," she 
 said. "Tell me what it is." 
 
 "If you should refuse," murmured Quentin, "what 
 should I do? What should I do? Do you know," 
 he went on agitatedly, " that I have been looking for 
 you for three whole days? I have wired to England, 
 I have taken every means to find you " 
 
 "Has Eldon given you my address? " As Madame 
 asked the question she made room for him beside 
 her. "Sit here," she said, "sit here by me." He 
 got up with a sigh and threw himself wearily beside 
 her. She slid her plump hand along her flounces, 
 and laid it within his. He started at its unexpected 
 touch, but gave it a kindly answering pressure. 
 
 "There is nothing that I would not do for you," 
 said she. " I am not bound in any way. No, I am 
 bound only to please myself. I have made no prom- 
 ises which will prevent. Only speak! Speak, my
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 285 
 
 friend, and say what it is that you wish." She was 
 so near Quentin now that he was somewhat discon- 
 certed. He loosened his grasp of her hand and with- 
 drew a little. 
 
 "You will tell me? " he said almost sternly. 
 
 "Yes, yes! What is it?" Madame looked thor- 
 oughly frightened. She knew not at what. A life 
 of love had ever been, was still the craving of her 
 perennially juvenile heart. Contradictory as the state- 
 ment may seem, when one considers all Madame's 
 small failings, it is a true one. Her marriages had 
 been to her mind distinct successes from a worldly 
 standpoint, but she felt that she had been sacrificed, 
 first, on the altar of Carleton, a man, though charm- 
 ing, whom she had not loved, and yet again, on ac- 
 count of the little ones, for whom her slender purse 
 had not been able to provide. Could love come to 
 her but once before she should pass that terrible 
 boundary where youth ends, and old age has its be- 
 ginning, she would thank the gods and leave worry 
 for others less fortunate than she. 
 
 Neither of Madame's marriages had been love mar- 
 riages, and she had failed to reach that acme of sup- 
 posititious perfect bliss. Madame thought that she 
 could live a life of joy if all things would but con* 
 spire to aid the end she had ever had in view. Our 
 hearts are not withered at forty-three, nor at fifty- 
 three, and oftentimes not at sixty-three; it all de- 
 pends upon the digestion. Ah ! poor soul, how could 
 Quentin be so single-minded as to dispel all sen- 
 timent within her breast; but when was impetu- 
 ous, youthful love ever kind, except to the chosen 
 one? 
 
 " Where is Alixe? " asked Quentin.
 
 286 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Ah, it had come ! That terrible question which she 
 was dreading, yet hoping not to hear. 
 
 "Alixe?" Poor Madame! She swallowed some- 
 thing, that felt like a knot of cotton wool in her 
 throat, and again she said, "Alixe? " 
 
 Madame's digestion was perfect. She had been 
 invisible on occasions because of headache, but when 
 the reason for invisibility had subsided the headache 
 had subsided also. To this perennial heart, then, 
 what must have been the shock when Quentin erased 
 all sentiment for him forever within her breast, by 
 repeating bluntly, "Where is Alixe? " 
 
 " Alixe? You surprise me ! " Madame sat up very 
 straight. "Wiry should you speak of her in that 
 way? You hardly know her." 
 
 "That is quite true," acquiesced Quentin. "You 
 need not remind me of that. I have forgotten con- 
 ventionality, but I — I fear she is in great trouble. 
 I — I — am led to suppose — " He broke off suddenly, 
 and looked Madame full in the eye, that handsome 
 eye which heretofore had looked so kindly upon him. 
 "Do you know where she is? " he said. 
 
 Madame, grown white, by reason of the chill which 
 her cherished sentiment had received, sank back upon 
 her sofa quite regardless of her chiffons, and replied, 
 "I do not." 
 
 "Not know where your own daughter is?" ex- 
 claimed Quentin, with a mixture of sternness and 
 entreaty in his voice. 
 
 " My niece? She has wilfully left me." 
 
 "Very well, then, your niece, though this is no 
 time for shams. Valery has told me something of 
 the family history " 
 
 "It was like him," interrupted Madame,
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 287 
 
 "It is of little interest whether the relation that 
 she bears to you is that of niece, daughter, or grand- 
 daughter — " Quentin was so selfishly in earnest 
 that his words seemed possessed of great brutality. 
 Madame turned a greenish shade, she gasped. A 
 reply did not come at her bidding. 
 
 "I must find her," finished Quentin. 
 
 Madame struggled to speak. When she could 
 move her stiff lips the words came haltingly. 
 
 " I see no reason why you should find her, she a 
 married woman, you a young— you an unmarried 
 man ; and she herself is the last one who would wish 
 it. You are not of our family, that you should come 
 interfering in this way. Eest assured that when we 
 need your assistance, Mr. Quentin " 
 
 "I have no desire to interfere, Madame "—Quentin 
 was quite oblivious that this was exactly what he was 
 doing, at that moment — "but I hear that she has left 
 her home ; that the Abbey is closed, deserted ! I beg 
 of you — I beg of you, tell me why." 
 
 His voice shook and died away almost to a whis- 
 per. In that agitation Madame read the death-blow 
 to her hopes. She began at once to compose a men- 
 tal letter to Lord Eldon, telling him that she would 
 be ready at the earliest date which he had named. 
 When she answered Quentin, her voice also trembled, 
 but it was cold and distant. 
 
 " I cannot tell you where she is, " she said. 
 
 "You mean you will not." 
 
 "I mean that I cannot. Oh! what have I done 
 that that woman always comes between my friends 
 and me? I mean it, I cannot! I do not know." 
 
 "You do not know the address of the person or 
 persons with whom she is at the moment? "
 
 288 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "No! No! No! How often must I tell you, 
 No!" 
 
 "Will you swear it?" 
 
 " I will swear it if it will give you any particular 
 comfort, if it will cause you to believe me, and insult 
 me no further." She put her shaking, beringed 
 hands before her face. A long sigh escaped her, 
 the sigh of final relinquishment. 
 
 " Oh, Madame ! " exclaimed Quentin, " I have hurt 
 you! Believe me, I am sorry. I am too wretched 
 to know what I am doing ; I — I thought you might 
 have seen her. I saw her yesterday " 
 
 " You saw her yesterday. Where? " 
 
 Quentin was about to say, " With the Archbishop," 
 but the conviction that had Alixe wished her mother 
 to know her whereabouts, she would have confided 
 in her, prevented. What right had he to disclose 
 that which he had procured only by chance? 
 
 "I saw her in a carriage in the Cours la Heine," 
 said he. 
 
 " Then she is in Paris. Did you speak to her? " 
 
 " Do you suppose that had I been able to speak to 
 her I should be here begging her address from you? " 
 
 The tone was sharp ; Madame called it harsh in her 
 thoughts. 
 
 "Did she see you?" 
 
 "She saw me, yes, I think she saw me." 
 
 " Oh, then, she did not recognize you ! Would not, 
 perhaps." Why should not Madame also administer 
 a few stings? 
 
 "No, not what you would call recognize me." It 
 came over him again, painfully, that she had looked 
 at him, but had made no sign of recognition. 
 
 " She is no better then to you, it seems, than to the
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 289 
 
 rest of us," said Madame. "She has behaved in a 
 most unkind manner to her husband and to me. I 
 wash my hands of her henceforth, from this day." 
 
 " In what way was she unkind to you? " asked 
 Quentin. 
 
 " She left us in the night. When, I do not know. 
 They are all in her pay at the Abbey." Quentin 
 smiled grimly as the literal truth of this statement 
 forced itself on his mind. " They pretend to know 
 nothing. I only know that she had not been to bed. 
 She took her maid Nanette and left us like that " — 
 Madame snapped her glittering fingers in air — " with- 
 out a word." 
 
 " I thought you would know something," said Quen- 
 tin miserably. 
 
 Madame laughed unpleasantly. 
 
 " Je ne suis pas la rose," she said shrilly, "mais 
 j'ai ve'cu avec elle. However, that is over; I doubt 
 if we live together ever again. Valery, great Irish 
 pig! only laughed and rubbed his hands, and said 
 that Bruno and I would see at last that Alixe had 
 some spirit. Spirit! Stealing away in the night! 
 As for Bruno, it is killing him. He loves her to 
 distraction." 
 
 " He must ! " said Quentin dryly. 
 
 "What do you mean! I never saw a man so 
 changed. His business keeps him away a great deal, 
 to be sure, but " 
 
 "What business?" asked Quentin. "I knew that 
 he trifled a little with potash and chlorides, but as 
 
 to anything serious " 
 
 'You shall not speak so to me of Bruno." Ma- 
 dame arose, her face was flushed, her eyes were no 
 longer innocent, but very angry. "He has made 
 19
 
 290 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 some very good sums of late. I don't know exactly 
 what his business is, but " 
 
 " Well ! " said Quentin desperately, " that is neither 
 here nor there. If you really cannot, or will not, tell 
 me where she is " 
 
 At this Madame collapsed upon the sofa, bent her 
 well-preserved face upon the pillow and burst into a 
 rage of tears. "How can you?" she said. The 
 smothered sounds came through several inches of 
 swansdown. Quentin stood uncomfortable — irreso- 
 lute. He could not take up the role of comforter ; that 
 had become distasteful to him, and besides it was full 
 of danger. He stood there, looking down upon the top 
 of the well ondule hair of his sometime friend, wonder- 
 ing how the affair would all end. Madame was really 
 crying ; there was no pretence about that, at any rate. 
 Finally, between heartrending sobs, "Lower the 
 shades," she said. "All of them; that one over there 
 at the corner. I am a perfect fright when I cry." 
 
 Quentin obediently lowered the heavy green cur- 
 tains, one after the other, and reduced the room to 
 Cimmerian darkness. He feared to stir. In imagi- 
 nation he saw disaster to the numerous little tables in 
 his path. As he stood for a moment to get his bear- 
 ings, and accustom himself to the absence of light, 
 "Do you know," said Madame in smothered tones, 
 " that you will make trouble for Alixe if you hound 
 her about in this way? " 
 
 He was feeling his way warily toward the door. 
 " Do you hear me? " The voice had lost the sound of 
 coming through down. She must be sitting up. 
 
 " I am not hounding her," Quentin weakly pleaded. 
 After he had said these words he continued to grope 
 toward the door. He went, softly groping, groping,
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 291 
 
 groping. Ah ! his hand was on the knob. What 
 luck ! He held it firmly. 
 
 " And what do you intend to do now? Don't stand 
 there by the window. Come over here and tell me 
 what you intend doing now? " 
 
 "Nothing," answered Quentin, as he suddenly 
 turned the knob. A strong flood of light entered, 
 but was as quickly banished as he shut himself away 
 from the presence of Madame and ran down the stairs 
 and out into the Paris sunshine.
 
 xxxn. 
 
 When Quentin had gone without doubt, Madame 
 rose and drew up the shades. Then she went into 
 her room and made herself charming again. Madame 
 was one who would have dressed for herself had she 
 lived upon an oasis in the desert. One could not im- 
 agine her without a hand-glass and powder puff. 
 When these articles and others as necessary had been 
 put to good use, she returned to the salon and opened 
 her desk. 
 
 If the whereabouts of Alixe were unknown to most 
 persons it was not a secret from her brother-in-law, 
 who, however, when Madame wrote, saying, "Of 
 course you know where she is, Yalery dear; you 
 always encourage her," answered, "Know where 
 Alixe is? How should I know? " Now Madame sat 
 down to bombard Valery with more arguments, 
 making eight pages of a single sheet. These intricate 
 crossings tried the good eyes and sweet temper of the 
 Rastaquouere. 
 
 " I am a good Catholic, Valery dear, as you know, 
 a very devoted daughter of the church ; but if Alixe 
 is, as I have reason to believe, somewhere in hiding, 
 where the dear Archbishop has access to her, she may 
 after all join my faith, and then all that fine property 
 will go to the church. I do not know exactly what 
 the French laws are with regard to a wife's property 
 and her husband's rights in it; but dearly as I love
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 293 
 
 Bruno, I really think lie has had all that he should 
 have, and as you once said to me, it is only throwing 
 good money after bad. If the dear Archbishop 
 knows where Alixe is, and Bruno should die suddenly, 
 I fear that before we could prevent it, she would enter 
 a convent, and give all her money to the church. 
 This I highly approve of in some cases, but not in 
 others, such as ours, for instance, where my property 
 is so very small, and I cannot live decently unless I 
 have a home with Alixe." 
 
 Although Valery had propounded to his young 
 mother-in-law the question as to how he should know 
 where Alixe might be, he, on that very day, addressed 
 an envelope to her in his big bold hand. It had been 
 brought to him by a very young woman for correc- 
 tion, a young woman who like too many children of her 
 nationality had been educated in Paris and knew little 
 or nothing of the spelling of her native tongue. He 
 had read it while sipping his coffee in the garden and 
 had laughed unrestrainedly over its length and strange 
 sentences. He had said to Gartha, " I couldn't make 
 it any better; really I couldn't, Gartha. I should 
 only spoil it. Let it go as it is." 
 
 Gartha put on a conscious air and plumed herself 
 as she had seen the young peacocks do at Countess 
 Blandina's. 
 
 "I am of an education somewhat high," said Gar- 
 tha. " I can speak four of the languages, moi ! The 
 English, that comes the first, being the one that is 
 worth speaking. The argot of the Quartier Latin 
 comes the next. Marie Monrouge, her cousin is an 
 artist-peintre. He teached it. Expressions of the 
 sort ' espece de type,' and 'sale Prusse,' and ' sale 
 Anglais ; ' though I, who love the English, would never
 
 294 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 say such a thing. After the argot of the Quartier 
 will come the American, because that is the tongue of 
 John Quentin and Harry Ware, and apres " — one al- 
 most expected to hear the words "the deluge" — 
 "apres comes that French. That is no tongue for 
 the people of our condition, only for poodles and 
 Weasels." 
 
 Gartha with much appearance of conscious pride 
 had marched with head held high to Bridget McCune, 
 the maid whom Valery had taken for her in his father's 
 household, and said: 
 
 " Please post my letter, dear Bridget McCune. My 
 father says he could not improve it. In it I speak 
 very kindly of you." The letter was dated "Bally- 
 rogan, Ireland," and ran: 
 
 " My devoted Aleeks i am in sore distress jay per- 
 due mon bague with which missue jon kenton seal our 
 love, it is a ill omen it belonged to the ded, and if your 
 ring belong to the ded she come wen the night is dark 
 as pich and in thunder tones say where is the ring i 
 trusted to my brither elsie macdonal say that is the 
 spelling of it elsio macdonal is skotch. i think the 
 weasal stoled it for of all the poor things minus virtu 
 the weasel is she i might say it. i ask my father 
 what gender virtu is and he says nooter because virtu 
 belongs to no sex. i here that jon kenton is stoping 
 with lord eldin and if he is he cant be far seprated 
 from me his only love they tell me that la manche 
 seprate us not la manche of engeland but la manche 
 of ireland they endeavors to make me speak the frinch 
 here but i tell them it is a vile tongue and should not 
 be spoke by ladies of good blood, i am getting to like 
 jon macdonal quite well and when i ask him if he 
 likes me he says nat verra mooch which is the ways 
 of men so no more from your derely loved Gartha. 
 P.S. i ask bridget mccune how to end it an she says
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 295 
 
 snap it short aff begorra. mais il faut que je impress 
 upon you the lost of that bague you may say to the 
 weasel that i will send her a formal invite to the weed- 
 ing but it is against the lore of the kenton famly to 
 make bains pieds in her sauser and my husband would 
 be disgusted and go for her tooth and nail bridget 
 macune says that is what she would do with thim 
 f rinch begorra excuse the irish valery spelled the frinch 
 for me he shouted it in from the garden — so b-a-i-n-s 
 p-i-e-d-s — so i hope jon kenton will prove to be more 
 of a gentleman than my farther and that our sons 
 may bo like him that is all that i ask of god i would 
 ask it of the Sainte Vierge, but you know how the 
 wimmen acts wen you want anything, your very be- 
 loved and adored Gartha p. s. i have ast briget macune 
 and olsie macdonal to be my bridesmaids, i ast cook 
 out of politnes briget and elsie has ascepted but cath- 
 ern moriarty says she has a sister in service in amer- 
 iky and she might mite be laundress in my husbans 
 famly and it woud cry shame to her i weeped wen she 
 refuse but she comfit me with some cake wich was 
 most delicius and give me a great pane, it fell, the 
 hevvy streke with sugar is what i have engage her to 
 make for my weeding i love dere briget macune and i 
 hope that jon kentin will love her in equal proportion 
 i mite have married his emnunce but i am as you 
 know devote for children, and wen i ask lord eldin if 
 archbishops has fine stalwart sons he says none to 
 speak of. it was a grief to me so no more from your 
 admired and much prized Gartha p s the cook showed 
 me how to end N'oubliez pas la bague. valery screamed 
 that in from the garden the speling, i mean i am re- 
 joyce jon kentin is not here to be shock." 
 
 "I couldn't have believed it if I hadn't read it my- 
 self," said Valery to Gartha in speaking of her letter. 
 " The sentiments alone are well worth the price of ad- 
 mission."
 
 296 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "I suppose you mean worth the stamps, Valery," 
 said Gartha. 
 
 Valery wrote a long letter also to his sister-in-law, 
 which went in the same mail with Gartha's. 
 
 " The poor little tad has been struggling with that 
 screed for three days," he said. " I see that you are 
 right, and that the child should go to a good English 
 school or she will never learn to write a decent Eng- 
 lish letter. She writes French fairly well, but her 
 English is beyond criticism. No words will do it 
 justice. Let me know when your interdict is abro- 
 gated, the embargo raised. Mamasha begs me to 
 tell where you are. She seems to be afraid that you 
 will leave or give some money to the church. Cer- 
 tainly, my dear Alixe, you cannot expect those good 
 women to take you in and give you simply what will 
 pay for your living. I know your generosity, but 
 you must do as your heart prompts you to do, and 
 not as Mamasha wishes in this matter. If she is go- 
 ing to marry Eldon, she will have gold and to spare." 
 Valery did not add that he had sent Madame a very 
 substantial check a few days before, that she might 
 not be hampered in getting her wedding outfit. 
 
 There came a second draft to Madame. It was for 
 a large sum, much larger than that usually spent for 
 a trousseau. It was enclosed within a letter which was 
 undated, but the envelope bore the Paris postmark. 
 
 "My dear Mamasha," it ran, "I know how hard it 
 is to get a trousseau with very little money. I know 
 what difficulty you had in getting mine. I send you 
 what I think will make you feel comfortable, and I 
 hope that it will make you happy. I hope that you 
 and Lord Eldon will spend your honeymoon at the 
 Abbey. I have written Charles that he is to receive
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 297 
 
 orders from you, exactly as if they were from me. If 
 Bruno is there, or comes back, you will of course be 
 glad to have him live in the chalet as usual. The 
 chateau will be large enough for you, and if you wish 
 to ask a house party a little later on, pray do so. I 
 shall not be with you, but I do truly wish you every 
 happiness. Alee."
 
 xxxm. 
 
 Quenttn remained in Paris. For what lie hardly 
 knew. He could find the Archbishop, for no one was 
 more easily found, but he had no wish to pursue 
 Alixe ; and further than that, he had no right to do 
 so. He walked often, however, in the quarter where 
 he knew that the Archbishop lived ; and one day was 
 fortunate enough to meet him on foot. The genial 
 smile was as kindly as ever, the friendly hand as 
 openly outstretched. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Quentin, and where have you come 
 from? " 
 
 "I have been in England, at Eldon Towers," said 
 Quentin, " but I heard some news which brought me 
 back to Paris." 
 
 "Not bad news, I hope." The Archbishop looked 
 at him keenly. 
 
 "I hardly know," said Quentin. "Sometimes I 
 think it is very bad news, again I think it may prove 
 to be good. I wish that I had some one to tell me." 
 
 The Archbishop smiled at the young man in a 
 friendly way. 
 
 "Were you a good son of the Church, Mr. Quentin, 
 you would come to me perhaps and let me help you ; 
 but of course as you do not belong to us, I can hardly 
 suggest that." 
 
 "I do not know what to do," said Quentin, looking 
 irresolutely at the old man and then on the ground.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 299 
 
 The Archbishop gave his hand, which he had not 
 released, a friendly pressure. 
 
 "When you want a friend, Mr. Quentin," he said, 
 '* don't think of religious differences. Just come to 
 me as you would have gone to your own father for 
 help in trouble." 
 
 As Quentin walked away his mind was in a tumult 
 with conflicting thoughts. He was so miserable that 
 he took no note of the path which he traversed, but 
 walked on, and suddenly became conscious that he 
 was again near the gate from which the Archbishop 
 had emerged. The walls of the enclosure rose high. 
 He saw that trees grew within, and he perceived that 
 the gray walls of a great building showed faintly 
 through them. 
 
 He raised his eyes to the arch over the closed gate 
 and saw that the religious emblem of the cross of 
 Christ was placed above it. So this was some holy 
 retreat ; he might have known it. He walked around 
 the entire square, but saw no place where the privacy 
 and seclusion of the spot seemed broken. It was as a 
 closed book, whose leaves he might not cut. As he 
 proceeded on his way he saw across the street hanging 
 upon the door of a great building the sign, " Apparte- 
 ments a louer." A sudden thought seized him. Ha 
 entered the shaded stone entrance, and asked to see 
 the apartments. They were au premier and au sec- 
 ond, if Monsieur would take the trouble to mount. 
 
 "And what is there en face? " asked Quentin. 
 
 "That is the convent of ," mentioning a saint 
 
 whose name was not unfamiliar to Quentin. 
 
 He examined the rooms critically, asking questions 
 the while. " Is it a convent where the sisters take 
 people from the outside world?" he asked.
 
 300 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Oh, yes, Monsieur, and all those whom they take 
 lodge on this side. The other side is given over to 
 the Keligious. But they will not disturb Monsieur. 
 As Monsieur perceives there is but little of the garden 
 that can be seen. " Quentin's heart gave a great leap. 
 He looked out of all the windows on both the first 
 and second floors, and finding that a little corner of 
 the convent garden was open to view from the second 
 story apartment, he engaged it for a month, with the 
 privilege of renewal if it pleased him. 
 
 And now began for Quentin restless days and fever- 
 ish nights. He went to bed or out into the streets 
 only when it grew so dark that he could discern 
 nothing more in the garden. He was up with the 
 dawn watching to see who should come there. Some- 
 times he saw some children playing in the garden, 
 watched by pleasant-faced sisters ; sometimes he saw 
 the sisters walking there by threes ; but he never saw 
 the form which he sought. After he had lived in his 
 rooms for three weeks, he again met the Archbishop. 
 This time he was entering the gate of the convent. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Quentin! Again in this quarter?" He 
 fancied the tone was somewhat suspicious. " Are you 
 living over here then? " 
 
 "I often walk here," said Quentin. "I am a great 
 walker, you know. My hotel is on the other side." 
 They parted, the Archbishop entering the gate, and 
 Quentin walked on. What he had told the Arch- 
 bishop was literally true, for he had not vacated his 
 rooms at the hotel where he usually stayed when in 
 Paris. There his letters came to him, and at night, 
 when there was no more hope of seeing into the con- 
 vent garden, he went there, or to his club, or took a 
 spin in the Bois in an automobile, but always re-
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 301 
 
 turned to sleep, and arise with the dawn. He fancied 
 sometimes that the very tall nun who walked in the 
 garden might be Alixe. He wondered if she had de- 
 termined to take up the conventual life. The idea 
 drove him mad, and yet what had he to say as to the 
 decision of another man's wife to take holy vows. 
 He wondered whether the Archbishop would consent 
 to receive a married woman into the conventual life ; 
 whether such separations were sanctioned by the 
 Church. Possibly if Alixe could divide her fortune, 
 St. Aubin would be willing to take half of it and allow 
 her to go from him, to the peace and rest which a holy 
 life might bring. 
 
 How many times these same thoughts went wander- 
 ing through his brain he did not try to count. They 
 and their variations were ever with him, subordinated 
 only by the one great desire to meet Alixe, just for a 
 moment, a few moments, face to face. At last, after 
 a month of weary days and disturbed nights, getting 
 no news and seeing nothing of the old occupants of 
 the Abbey, he determined to call upon the Arch- 
 bishop. Procuring his address he went to the quar- 
 ter where His Grace's palace stood. When shown 
 into the well-closed house he was all at once aston- 
 ished at his own temerity. He was attacked with a 
 species of stage fright, so to speak. Now that he 
 was here, his knees gave way under him as he mounted 
 the stairs. What had he come to say? He asked 
 himself this and many a similar question as he was 
 shown into an ante-room. It seemed that it was the 
 Archbishop's pleasure to see personally those who 
 wished to see him, and as Quentin entered, he found 
 himself surrounded by several persons of both sexes. 
 One or two shabby looking priests were there, one
 
 302 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 dignified old father of the Church, fat and rubi- 
 cund, and three poorly dressed women. A lady, 
 richly dressed, sat near the door. She was tall and 
 slight, and Quentin hoped at first that it might be her 
 whom he sought; but when, on being asked by the 
 secretary to enter the Archbishop's private room, and 
 she rose and raised her veil, he saw the face of an old 
 gray -haired woman. 
 
 When all those who had arrived before him had 
 been ushered into the Archbishop's room, and left it 
 presumably by some other door, for Quentin did not 
 see them again, he was approached by the young priest 
 who acted as secretary, and asked if he wished to see 
 His Grace. 
 
 For answer he handed his card to the priest, and 
 was at once shown into the library of the Archbishop. 
 
 "Ah ! Mr. Quentin, so you have come to confess at 
 last? " said His Grace, rising from his leather-covered 
 chair, and laughing a little as he did so. 
 
 "I don't know exactly what I have come for, Your 
 Grace," replied Quentin. "I am very unhappy, and 
 I don't know where else to go." 
 
 The Archbishop gave Quentin one of his rare 
 smiles. 
 
 " They always come to the Church, Mr. Quentin, 
 when they are in trouble," he said, "and She opens 
 her arms to them as if they had not scorned Her 
 while they were in prosperity." 
 
 "I — I don't think I want to come into the church, 
 Your Grace. I have had too Puritan an upbringing 
 for that," said Quentin frankly. "It is you whom I 
 wish to see — you personally." 
 
 The Archbishop looked solemn. 
 
 " Dear sir, " he said, " do not say that so decidedly.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 303 
 
 The time may come as I have said. She opens her 
 arms to all. Now, what is the trouble? Business 
 matters? Those are not always so readily settled. 
 Death? That is an easy matter for the faithful sons 
 and daughters of the Church to bear. Come ! Ease 
 your mind. What is it? " 
 
 The Archbishop laid his handsome, well-kept hand 
 upon Quentin's arm. The episcopal ring shone out 
 w T ith great brilliancy. Quentin's thoughts new back 
 to Gartha and her naive remark about Mamasha hang- 
 ing on to the Archbishop's hand and His Grace not 
 seeming to mind it. So many had clung to that hand : 
 the hand ever ready to help, the hand that was per- 
 petually outstretched to aid. The tears came to Quen- 
 tin's eyes. His gaze rested upon the ring. His lips 
 trembled into a nervous smile, as Gartha's absurd 
 words, the Archbishop's unvarying gentleness to one 
 who had no claim upon him, and his own troubles 
 were inextricably mingled within his thoughts. 
 
 The Archbishop rose and went to a little glass cup- 
 board. He took therefrom a delicate bottle and a gob- 
 let of antique shape. 
 
 He poured a dark stream from the bottle. 
 
 "There! there! my friend," he said, "drink that! 
 It will pull you together, as you English say. Impe- 
 rial Tokay from the cellars of ." His Grace men- 
 tioned the name of a well-known princely connoisseur, 
 not as if he were vain of the fact that the present had 
 been sent by him, but as if he wished to prove to 
 Quentin that the wine must be of good quality. 
 'You are run down. You look thin, Mr. Quentin; 
 your trouble must bo great. Compose yourself and 
 then tell me all about it." 
 
 Was this the confessional of which Quentin's Puri-
 
 304 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 tanical ancestors had talked, and railed while they 
 talked? Was this the box where you might confess 
 at one window, while the priest was gazing out of the 
 other at some wedding or churchly show? 
 
 Quentin took the glass and thirstily swallowed the 
 wine. 
 
 "You drink like a starving man," said His Grace, 
 " as if it were meat and drink to you. Have you been 
 fasting of late?" 
 
 "Not intentionally," said Quentin. A flush, born 
 partly of the delicious sting of the wine, and partly 
 from the feeling of repose which the Archbishop's 
 presence always engendered, came over Quentin's 
 face. He took the seat which was offered him. 
 
 "I am keeping you too long," he said; "that I 
 know — I who have no claim. I am not of your 
 church; not of your religion." 
 
 " I have a common brotherhood with the sorrowful," 
 said His Grace. " They " — with a nod at the ante- 
 chamber — " can wait for you as you waited for others, 
 as others must wait for them. When the hours which 
 I reserve are gone, they must depart and come again 
 some other day. Well, now, what is it? " 
 
 The Archbishop leaned back in his chair, and put 
 the tips of his fingers together; he looked at Quentin 
 expectantly. 
 
 His visitor arose and began to pace the room. He 
 did not speak for some moments. He swallowed once 
 or twice, then turned and looked at the gentle old 
 man as if to gain courage. 
 
 "There is a woman," he burst out. 
 
 His emotion, now that he had really embarked on 
 his dread subject, mastered him. The Archbishop's 
 face was calm. A smile seemed to underlie its sur-
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 305 
 
 face, a smile which a properly polite sympathy would 
 not allow to break forth. 
 
 " I had not thought of that, " he said. " A man of 
 the world would at once have counselled, ' Cherchez 
 la femme. ' " 
 
 "If I could but find her," said Quentin, "if I could 
 but discover her whereabouts ! I know that I should 
 not bring tales of the world to this quiet spot, to this 
 holy enclosure." 
 
 The Archbishop had been regarding him calmly, 
 waiting patiently for him to finish. 
 
 " And what else should you bring if not tales of the 
 world? Do we not live in the world? Are we not 
 here because of the sorrows of the world? If it were 
 not for that world outside there, beyond the gates, of 
 what use should we be? As it is, we are here to 
 strive and struggle and wrestle " 
 
 The Archbishop ceased suddenly. His tone, which 
 had become somewhat exalted for him, was lowered. 
 
 "Go on, Mr. Quentin," he said. 
 
 " But tales like mine are so much out of your line. 
 They are " 
 
 The Archbishop rested his elbow on the table and 
 his head against the palm of his hand. " Unfortu- 
 nately," he said, "such tales are not rare. We hear 
 more of them perhaps than of any other." 
 
 Quentin had been pacing the room with nervous 
 strides. Now he suddenly halted, and absently fin- 
 gered the fringe of the curtain. " I do not know why 
 I came here," he said. "I simply couldn't help it. 
 But now that I am here, what can you do for me? 
 What can any one do for me? You can tell me per- 
 haps where this woman may be found ; but when I 
 have found her, of what avail? " 
 20
 
 306 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "I can tell you where this woman can be found?" 
 The Archbishop sat upright and looked searchingly 
 at Quentin. "I? How should I know if you do not 
 know yourself? " 
 
 " I think that you do know, Your Grace. Believe 
 me, I have not come here for the sake of anything but 
 that of relieving my own mind, my own heart and 
 soul. I think that you do know. May I ask Your 
 Grace to tell me? " 
 
 "Not until I know more about it." The Arch- 
 bishop surveyed his questioner calmly. 
 
 "Not until I know more about it," he said again. 
 "Remember, you have told me nothing as yet, Mr. 
 Quentin ; but from what I gather this is not a matter 
 in which I should interest myself." 
 
 "I was afraid of this," said Quentin. "I told you 
 that mine is an utterly hopeless case." He stood de- 
 jectedly against the background of the subdued light 
 of the window, his hands hanging at his sides. He 
 went on hurriedly. " This woman has no thought of 
 me. I have no right to think of her." 
 
 " You have learned something when you have got 
 thus far," said the Archbishop in a dispassionate 
 tone. 
 
 " I have hardly more than touched her hand — not 
 as often as I have touched your own. I have said no 
 word of love to her, hardly of friendship. Why 
 should you speak to me as if I were committing the 
 unpardonable sin, Your Grace? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Quentin. I might have 
 known that you would do nothing unworthy." He 
 broke off. "But why pursue the lady if she can 
 never be anything to you? And why come to me? 
 Is she in my keeping? Do I know this lady? When
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 307 
 
 I told you to come if you were in trouble, I did not 
 anticipate — I did not dream " 
 
 " I hardly know what I wish, what I am doing ; but 
 one thing I must know, and that is whether she is 
 happy, whether she is at peace." 
 
 The Archbishop sat quiet for the space of a minute. 
 Before his mind's eye were passing the faces, so far 
 as he could remember them, of the young novices 
 who had been lately received into the church. Their 
 youthful charms did not appeal to him except as addi- 
 tions to the lambfold, as was right, and their faces 
 had not remained in his memory. Then he began to 
 speak. 
 
 " I cannot imagine whom you can mean. There was 
 the young daughter of the de Valle family ; she has 
 taken the veil. There was Mademoiselle la Grange, 
 but I think you did not know her." 
 
 "I know none of these people," said Quentin. 
 "The woman whom I seek is married." 
 
 The Archbishop arose and stood, one hand on the 
 table. " A woman who is married, you say ? And you 
 come to ask me, a priest of the Church, to aid you in 
 pursuing this woman who is not, who never can be, 
 anything to you? I had not thought it of you, Mr. 
 Quentin." 
 
 " It is because I met you both under the same roof 
 that I come to you." 
 
 " We know so few of the same persons, Mr. Quen- 
 tin. We were a very short time in the country to- 
 gether, and there were only those English and Amer- 
 ican ladies, and the Baroness and Mademoiselle, be- 
 sides the family." 
 
 " It is of one of that family I " 
 
 " Oh, the dear little Madame ! " smiled the Arch-
 
 308 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 bishop with a slight tremor of the lid. "Why should 
 you have made such a mystery about her? Her for- 
 mer marriage — marriages — need be no barrier. She 
 is living in — I can easily give you her address." 
 
 " I know where Madame lives, " said Quentin ; " I 
 have been to see her. It is — it is of her daughter I 
 would ask." 
 
 At once a change passed over the Archbishop's face. 
 It was almost imperceptible. The smile remained, 
 but it was as if frozen into a marble mask. He took 
 a paper-knife from the table and bent it nearly double. 
 Then he seated himself, turned half way in his chair, 
 leaned back, pressed his lids so closely together that 
 the color of the ball was hardly discernible and showed 
 only in a sharp glint of light. He thrust out his chin, 
 turned his face sidewise toward Quentin, and said in 
 a very slow tone, with marked emphasis : 
 
 "And what has a young man, an American, one who 
 hardly knows her, to do with this married woman, to 
 do with the Duchesse di Brazzia? " 
 
 Quentin sat silent. He had received a moral 
 chill. 
 
 "You do not answer," said the Archbishop. The 
 words came forth from his thin lips with a slow hiss- 
 ing sound. The sympathy between the two seemed 
 to have been extinguished. 
 
 " I have nothing to answer, " said Quentin. " There 
 is no answer. I have nothing to do with her, God 
 knows." 
 
 " And you would, nevertheless, force yourself on this 
 lady?" ' 
 
 " God forbid ! " said Quentin. 
 
 " The subject does not call for so much religious 
 fervor," said the Archbishop dryly, in a tone which
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 309 
 
 was a mixture of plain statement and sarcasm. 
 " Then pray what is your errand here? " 
 
 "I have told you," said Quentin. "If you know 
 where she is, will you tell me what I ask, whether 
 she is happy?" 
 
 "I — I — hope so," said His Grace. "If she is not, 
 she soon will be." 
 
 " Oh, my God ! Have you inveigled her, have you 
 
 persuaded her Is she going to take the vows 
 
 which will shut her forever away from the world, 
 which will " 
 
 "I have inveigled her, as you say, into nothing, 
 my friend. She came, the Duchesse di Brazzia, to me 
 voluntarily. Why, I cannot tell you. What she said 
 to me, it is needless to inform you, I cannot disclose. 
 And why should I to — to you? I cannot tell what 
 her future may be. We do not know; but rest as- 
 sured, Mr. Quentin, that I am as anxious for her 
 peace of mind as you can be ; rest assured that I, who 
 have known this dear child almost all her life, am as 
 anxious for her earthly happiness as you, an utter 
 stranger, can be. I may tell you that I am caring for 
 her now, and when I tell you that she has asked that 
 I will not reveal her whereabouts to Madame Petrof- 
 sky, I am sure that you will respect that wish as I do." 
 
 " Can you doubt it? " asked Quentin. " May I ask 
 you one thing, Your Grace? " 
 
 'You may ask me many things, Mr. Quentin. I 
 am asked many a thing that I cannot answer. I re- 
 ceive many requests that I cannot grant." 
 
 " Will you ask Al — , the Duchesse di Brazzia, if she 
 will see me? I know that I have no right," he fal- 
 tered. " I know that she is not, never can be, any- 
 thing to me ; but if I may see her once — I do not ask
 
 310 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 to speak to her. If you will tell me if she is happy, 
 whether what happened at— at the Abbey has hurt 
 her so that she is no more in love with life— if you 
 will tell me " 
 
 "Mr. Quentin," said the Archbishop, "I suppose 
 you think that we priests have no sympathy because 
 we have no feeling. Ah, there is your mistake. Just 
 
 because our calling shuts us away from " He 
 
 broke off and pressed his lips together. 
 
 " Then there is hope of my seeing her ? " burst in 
 Quentin impetuously. 
 
 "Certainly," said His Grace, "if she wishes to see 
 you, and why not? She is not a prisoner." 
 
 "Is she in this house? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Quentin. Badly as you think of us, you 
 Protestants, I may assure you that I do not harbor 
 women in my house. But I shall see her, and I will 
 give her your message. I do not know you well, but 
 I do know that, stubborn little heretic though she is, 
 that lady's conduct must ever be above reproach." 
 
 Quentin smiled joyously at the words, "stubborn 
 little heretic." The Archbishop saw his mistake in- 
 stantly, and in a calm voice, trying to repair the 
 breach in his walls, he continued : "lam going to see 
 her now. If you will wait for me until I see the rest 
 of these good people, you may drive with me as far as 
 I go your way ; and when I know myself, I will write 
 you a line, telling you whether the Duchesse will see 
 you or no." 
 
 Quentin, beside himself with joy, waited in a small 
 reception room for a half hour or more. His heart 
 was beating tumultuously, his head ringing. The 
 pulsations of his body kept time to the words, "I 
 shall see her, I shall see her."
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 311 
 
 At the end of the half hour the Archbishop entered 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Come, my friend," he said. " I have little time." 
 
 The carriage was standing at the door. The Arch- 
 bishop gave an address to the coachman. It was in a 
 very different quarter of Paris from that in which 
 Quentin had taken up his abode. They drove for the 
 space of ten minutes without speaking. Finally they 
 drew up at the gates of a convent. The two men 
 alighted. 
 
 "You must leave me here, my friend," said His 
 Grace. " I will communicate with you in a day or 
 two. Let my man take you to the nearest cab stand 
 and return here for me." 
 
 Quentin surveyed the great wall with deep interest. 
 So that was where Alixe had found refuge ! Of what 
 use his long and patient watching in the Latin Quar- 
 ter. He bowed to the prelate with a new respect, and 
 was whirled away before his old friend had been swal- 
 lowed up within the gates of the conventual walls. 
 He took a cab and returned to his hotel. Of what 
 use to seek those dreary rooms again? They were 
 rilled, it is true, with thoughts of Alixe, but with 
 what sad ones ; with the remembrance of long hours 
 of watching and waiting.
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 When His Grace's carriage returned to the convent, 
 the coachman was informed by the priest at the gate 
 that the Archbishop was waiting at the entrance in 
 the next street. "When the carriage drove up, His 
 Grace was standing on the opposite side of the great 
 square, just within the gate. 
 
 " Thank you, " he said, with his lovely smile, to the 
 holy women surrounding him. " I thank you, Sister; 
 I thank you, Mother. Another time I will stop. I 
 merely walked through to ask of your well-being." 
 
 The gate was opened for him, and he drove off with 
 hardly more than five minutes of his time spent within 
 the enclosure. The carriage proceeded at once to the 
 convent which Quentin had been watching for a month 
 past. When the Archbishop had been admitted, he 
 asked to see the Duchesse di Brazzia. It was not long 
 before Alixe entered the Mother Superior's parlor. 
 She was clad in black. Her dress was not the conven- 
 tual one, but the costume of the outside world. She 
 smiled as she gave him her hand. " You take a great 
 deal of trouble about me, Your Grace. How good of 
 you to come again." 
 
 " I hope that you have thought over well what I have 
 said to you, my daughter," said the Archbishop. 
 
 " I have thought over it, I have prayed over it, Your 
 Grace, but you must give me a little more time. I
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 313 
 
 must go back to the Abbey after Mamasha has left, 
 and think over it there." 
 
 "After she has left?" 
 
 " Yes, I have offered her the place for her honey- 
 moon." 
 
 The Archbishop's brow clouded. "And why back 
 to the Abbey? " he asked. 
 
 " Because, Your Grace, my friend, the one whom I 
 have lost, Virginia Danielli, has often talked to me 
 there about taking the vows. Perhaps had she lived 
 we should have taken them together. I will never go 
 back to my husband, to Bruno, again ; on that I am 
 determined. I do not feel it to be my duty, and I 
 do feel that, if I spare him a handsome sum, he will 
 not require it of me. I could not, I could not. Oh, 
 Your Grace, I could not ! " Alixe began to tremble. 
 Her face lost color. " I could not bear what I have 
 borne, again. I — I — do not know what I should do, 
 what it would drive me to. Do not tell me that it is 
 my duty to return." 
 
 " I shall not tell you anything now," said His Grace. 
 "I have no right to control you." He looked at her 
 sadly ; he saw that she was still the " stubborn little 
 heretic " of whom he had spoken to Quentin, and he 
 well knew that, should her husband iusist upon her 
 being restored to him, no one, the Church least of all, 
 could prevent. 
 
 "I have nothing to say," said he. "Go back, my 
 daughter, to the spot where our dear sister in the 
 church implored you to join her and us. Think of 
 her often. Go to the places where you sat together. 
 Kemember her words, and when you decide, come 
 again to me. And now, to change the subject, I have 
 a message for you from a friend of yours."
 
 314 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Alixe started visibly, and then regained her calm. 
 
 "It is not your husband, do not be afraid. Mr. 
 Quentin, who was at the Abbey with you all for a time, 
 he it is who wishes to see and speak with you." 
 
 Alixe said nothing for the moment. She arose and 
 walked to the centre table, filled a glass with water 
 and drank it, essayed once or twice to speak, and 
 then said in a faint voice, "I do not care to see him." 
 
 "As you will, my daughter," replied the Arch- 
 bishop, evidently relieved. "It shall be as you 
 say." 
 
 "Why should I be troubled with that old life?" 
 said Alixe. " I have done with it. I should like to 
 see Gartha and Valery once more before " 
 
 A beaming smile broke over the Archbishop's face. 
 "So you have almost decided." 
 
 " Almost, " whispered Alixe, "almost!" And then 
 dropping her voice to a whisper, she said again, 
 "Almost!" 
 
 " We must have a conference with your husband," 
 said the Archbishop. " We can have it at the Abbey. 
 Why should you not remain quietly here until the 
 wed — the — the — wedding is over" — the Archbishop 
 too seemed to feel disturbed — "and when they are 
 away from the Abbey, go down there? Your husband 
 can come with me, and we will arrange matters." 
 
 "I should like to go there once more," said Alixe. 
 8 1 love the hills and the birds and the gardens. I 
 should love to go there once more. I should love to 
 sit in the ruins once again, on that old branching 
 tree, as I sat — as I sat " 
 
 The Archbishop) arose. 
 
 " Farewell, then, my daughter, until I see you again. 
 Do you get out to take the air as often as you should? "
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 315 
 
 "I walk in the garden," said Alixe, "but the leaves 
 are dusty and the path is rough." 
 
 "All paths in this world are rough, my child," said 
 the Archbishop. "Good-bye." 
 
 He took her hand in his for a moment, then dropped 
 it, went to the door and opened it. He was nearly 
 outside when Alixe followed swiftly after him. 
 
 "Your Grace," she said, "Your Grace, I — I — have 
 — have changed my mind." 
 
 The Archbishop's face clouded over. 
 
 " What, so quickly ?" he said. " You have no con- 
 victions. You will not enter the conventual life? " 
 
 " I have not changed my mind about that," she an- 
 swered, " for it was never made up. Not about that. 
 It is about seeing Mr. Quentin. I will see him at 
 your house, if you give me permission. I will see 
 him the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " At my house? " repeated the Archbishop. 
 ' Yes, Your Grace. At your house, and I beg that 
 you will be present." 
 
 ' You may be very sure that I will be present if you 
 ask it," said the Archbishop, a confident smile again 
 flooding his face. And as he closed the outer door 
 he added : " You may be very sure that I will, dear 
 lady, in any event."
 
 XXXV. 
 
 At about this time Mr. Hilary Valery, sometime 
 Rastaquouere, received the following letter. It was 
 dated Paris, and began and ended as follows : 
 
 "My deae Valery: I do wish that you would go 
 to the Abbey and see that things are somewhat in 
 order. There is no one there but Charles and Eugene, 
 besides the miller and Pere and Mere Montrouge, 
 and you know what use she is. Marie Montrouge is 
 also at the mill, but Alixe took Nanette away with 
 her. So inconsiderate! and only God knows what 
 has become of them. I really have not the time to 
 attend to matters at the Abbey. What with dress- 
 makers and milliners, and having new corsets fitted, 
 I am worn to a shred. You might take Gartha and 
 go over there, and welcome us when we come. Have 
 a house party, if you like; only keep my suite of 
 rooms for us. It will be delightful to be received by 
 a large number of gay people. I suppose the tenants 
 could not very well welcome us, as the place really 
 does not belong to me. But there might be some 
 demonstration: white favors on the horses' heads; 
 wreaths over the road from the beginning of the Abbey 
 wall. Something just to show that some one takes a 
 little interest. 
 
 " Thank you for your kind draft. I will try to make 
 it do; but you know what Raudnitz and Pacquin are. 
 I do have a difficult time to make both ends meet. 
 Even with no cook, and no valet, and no special maid, 
 only a little bonne a tout faire, it is almost impossible 
 to struggle along with my limited means. You can
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 317 
 
 take Mademoiselle down with you. She can see to 
 Gartha and keep her from too much roaming about ; 
 she will be delighted. ['That's more than I shall 
 be,' growled Valery between puffs of his pipe.] 
 
 "She has been weeping every morning oyer my 
 gifts, and begging to go on my wedding trip with me. 
 Now, I ask you if that is fair? She says she will go 
 in any capacity; but of course that is absurd. It 
 would get into the papers, and we should be the laugh- 
 ing stock of two continents. I am really too poor to 
 keep Mademoiselle hanging on. If you want her for 
 Gartha, do take her ; otherwise she must seek some 
 other position. [Valery took care to repeat parts of 
 this interesting letter to Mademoiselle, when he saw her 
 later. When Mademoiselle heard them, she sniffed 
 and remarked, 'Elle crie toujours famine sur un tas 
 debleV] 
 
 "Now, dear Valery," the letter continued, "I have 
 come to the serious part of my letter. I wonder if 
 Alixe would lend me the family jewels. Not to keep, 
 you know; just to wear at the wedding. I should 
 hate to have Eldon's family think I was a pauper. 
 ['Which you truly are, poor old Mamasha,' mur- 
 mured Valery from clouds of smoke.] 
 
 " If I knew where Alixe was, I would write her my- 
 self. As you do not appear very anxious to see me 
 given away again, I hope that you will do the next 
 best thing and go down to the Abbey at once. The 
 wedding takes place two weeks from next Thursday, 
 and we should like to go to the Abbey as soon as pos- 
 sible. If you can get word from Alixe (did you ever 
 know anything so heartless as her concealing her 
 whereabouts from me when I have all these things on 
 my mind?) ask her about the diamonds. I am anx- 
 ious to know, and believe me, ever my dear Valery, 
 
 " Your affectionate 
 
 "Annie Petkofsky." 
 
 "P.S. If you could supplement the check just re-
 
 318 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 ceived with one a little larger it would not be unac- 
 ceptable." 
 
 " I will not have the Weasel, " said Gartha. " I will 
 have Marie Monrouge or Nanette, but I will not agree 
 at the Weasel." 
 
 "She will have to go there, poor old thing," said 
 Valery. " She has nowhere else to go." 
 
 " I should much prefer an English Miss," said Gar- 
 tha. " Of all things I should prefer an English Miss. 
 The Countess Blandina's twins have an English Miss. 
 She plays the game of tennis with them and also the 
 game of shuttledoor. " 
 
 " How would you like the Baroness? " asked Valery. 
 
 "I love the Baron," said Gartha. "They say he 
 sits in front of Maxim's and drinks his life away. 
 What is it to drink your life away ? They say it is a 
 green thing called the absinthe." 
 
 " How would you like the Baron and the Baroness 
 too? " said Valery. 
 
 "And John Quentin," said Gartha, "and Jan Mac- 
 Donal'?" 
 
 "I'm afraid they wouldn't agree. Mr. Quentin 
 might be jealous of Jan MacDonald." 
 
 "Just what I should most like," said Gartha. 
 
 "You are a second Mamasha," said Valery. 
 
 "Oh, Valery, you make me despise you." 
 
 " You are ! You will grow up exactly like her. " 
 
 " I am trying to mould myself on Alixe," said Gar- 
 tha. "John Quentin said the mould was broken. 
 What did he mean, Valery? At the same time he 
 said I could not mould myself upon a better model." 
 
 Valery raised his eyebrows and gave a long whistle. 
 "Quentin, too? Ha, ha!"
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 319 
 
 'Yes, isn't it a shame? Oh, but a shame! Arid 
 she doesn't try at all. I asked her not to interfere, 
 and she said she would not. Ah, mon Dieu ! " 
 
 "I don't believe she has seen him since you have," 
 said Valery, laughing. "Well, do you think you 
 would like to go Avith the Weasel? " 
 
 "Is it to go with you? " 
 
 'Yes, I suppose so. The fact is, Gartha, I'm a 
 doocid deal too good-natured." 
 
 "And if I do not go, you will go in every case? " 
 
 'Yes, but I'll take you through Paris, Gartha," 
 said Valery, warming to his subject, for he had been 
 at an Irish country place now for one long month. 
 " I shall go to the Louvre, and get some of those 
 pretty frocks." 
 
 "Like the one the Lord Eldon remarked was a 
 dainty little robe " 
 
 " Much prettier than that. And I shall drive you 
 in the Bois, and we will go up in La Grande Roue de 
 Paris, and up in the Tour Eiffel, and up in all the bal- 
 loons, and " 
 
 'Your arguments are very strong," said Gartha, 
 " even with the Weasel at the other end. I think I will 
 consent." 
 
 So it came about that Hilary and his little daugh- 
 ter started one fine morning from Ballyrogan and, 
 duly travelling and stopping in Paris, spending a dear, 
 delightful day with Alixe in a shopping tour for Gar- 
 tha, were at the Abbey a week before Lord Eldon and 
 Madame could possibly put in an appearance.
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The day after Quentin parted from the Archbishop 
 he received a note from the priestly young secretary, 
 saying that His Grace would be happy to see Mr. 
 Quentin at his house on the following morning at 
 eleven o'clock. Quentin had no idea what this meant 
 for him, whether Alixe had consented to see him, 
 or whether the Archbishop merely wished to tell him 
 that she had refused his request. With all his preju- 
 dice against the priests of the Archbishop's religion, 
 he was minded to believe that His Grace might never 
 convey his wish to Alixe, and perhaps would merely 
 tell him that she had declined to see him. He was 
 restless and felt as if he were all nerves. He walked 
 over many miles of the Paris streets that day, and 
 finally took an automobile and had a spin away to 
 St. Germain, through Versailles and the forest of 
 Marly. He ate his dinner on the terrace, and gazed 
 afar at the steeples of St. Denis, where the kings of 
 France are buried, and remembered as he stood there 
 the anecdote of Louis the Fourteenth, who would 
 never inhabit St. Germain because of that reminder 
 of death which was ever in his view. When it was so 
 dark that he could hardly see the road, he started 
 back to Paris. His brake gave out, and he walked 
 almost all the way, leaving his machine at a shop, 
 where he hac knocked up the sleepy proprietor. He 

 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 321 
 
 would not have done so careless a thing ordinarily, 
 but he was living in a dream, and such actions showed 
 him later how widely he had departed from his ordi- 
 nary custom. In a dazed and wondering state he 
 reached his rooms, bathed, ate some food, and then 
 threw himself down to sleep ; but he was, notwith- 
 standing his tiresome night, early wide awake, dress- 
 ing and looking at the clock with every passing mo- 
 ment. At last he allowed himself to descend the stairs 
 and call for a cab. It was ten minutes to eleven. 
 
 Quentin rang the Archbishop's bell, and was ush- 
 ered into a different reception room from the one 
 where he had sat on the last visit. He was its only 
 occupant. Almost at once the young secretary came 
 in and said : 
 
 "This way, Monsieur," and led him into the 
 library. The first object that he saw was a tall figure 
 standing by the window, the figure of a woman. She 
 was clothed in black, and wore a veil. She was thin- 
 ner than when he saw her last, and had a careworn 
 look which was new to her. He advanced, and she 
 stretched out her hand. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Quentin? I am very glad to 
 see you." 
 
 The tone was so coldly kind, and the words so 
 commonplace, that Quentin was conscious of a severe 
 feeling of disappointment. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Quentin, how do you do?" They were 
 His Grace's cheery tones. There was no closing of 
 the eyelids now, no sarcasm in the pleasant voice. 
 The Archbishop spoke as one who stands on firm 
 ground, as one who is entrenched in a position from 
 which nothing can dislodge him. 
 
 " Take a seat, Mr. Quentin ; be seated, Duchesse. 
 21
 
 322 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 It is some time since we three met at the Abbaye de 
 Bref." 
 
 Alixe took the chair His Grace offered her, and 
 Quentin seated himself between the two. A thought 
 flashed through his mind that this should ever be his 
 position, could he manage it, now and always, be- 
 tween the two. There would he stand and there 
 would he fight until he found that she herself was 
 willingly fighting against him and had firmly arrayed 
 herself upon the other side. 
 
 " Have you been there lately, Mr. Quentin? " asked 
 Alixe, looking up at him quickly. He was gazing at 
 the rope of silver beads and the cross set with ame- 
 thysts that hung downward among the folds of her 
 dress. When last he had seen the symbol it was but 
 the last gift of a beloved friend. It possessed a dif- 
 ferent significance now. 
 
 He raised his eyes from the splendid ornament. 
 He could not but feel how every accessory which this 
 woman possessed, instead of adding to her charm, 
 was itself made the more attractive because worn by 
 her. 
 
 "No," said Quentin, "I have been over in England. 
 I saw Miss Spencer at Eldon Towers." 
 
 "Ah, you have been there! And how was Lady 
 Alfred? And dear Lord Eldon ! I need not ask. I 
 believe he is happy ; they are both happy, I hope, 
 Mamasha and he. Shall you attend the wedding, 
 Mr. Quentin? " 
 
 " I have not been asked. But I am invited by Yal- 
 ery to go to the Abbey for a house party soon. Are 
 you coming? " 
 
 "No," said Alixe, "I have told them that I cannot 
 come. I wish them every happiness, as you must
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 323 
 
 know, but I cannot mix with the world again." The 
 Archbishop sat leaning back in his chair, smiling. 
 
 "How can you leave the world? " asked Quentin. 
 
 The Archbishop frowned slightly and shifted his 
 position. He clasped his fingers together, resting 
 them under and against his white upper teeth, and 
 fixed a level gaze on Quentin. 
 
 "I think that I shall be able to," said Alixe, with 
 a bright look at the Archbishop. Her hand uncon- 
 sciously sought the cross. She held it as she spoke. 
 " God and His Grace helping me. There is one ob- 
 stacle only, and we hope to overcome that, do we not, 
 Your Grace? " 
 
 "We do, my dear daughter, we do." 
 
 "And have you so quickly changed your faith, the 
 faith of your fathers?" asked Quentin. "Have you 
 had time to learn all their lessons by rote? " 
 
 The Archbishop frowned, but the frown was a se- 
 cure one. He looked into the face of Alixe as she 
 smiled back at Quentin, as if he were certain what 
 her argument would be. Her lip was tremulous, but 
 she spoke without a tremor in her voice. 
 
 " I have learned nothing by rote. They have taught 
 me nothing except by their example. I see holy lives 
 all around me. All that I crave is peace. His Grace 
 promises me peace." 
 
 "Yes, I promise you peace," said the Archbishop, 
 "in — in time." 
 
 " I hoped that you would give me your address that 
 I might see you sometimes," said Quentin. "I have 
 taken rooms close to the convent of St. Saviour's. I 
 can look into the little corner of the garden. I thought 
 I might see you there." Both Alixe and the Arch- 
 bishop had started at these words. " I knew that it
 
 324 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 was no affair of mine, your going away like this ; but 
 I feared that — you must pardon me, Your Grace, I am 
 perhaps prejudiced — I was afraid that you were being 
 coerced against your will." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " said Alixe. She turned on him a 
 smile full of confidence in her new surroundings. 
 
 " I found that you were not at that convent, because 
 the Archbishop took me to another quite on the other 
 side of Paris, when he went to see you " 
 
 Alixe raised her brows almost imperceptibly at her 
 old friend. He shook his head faintly at her, as if to 
 say," All's fair in war." 
 
 "I hoped that you would let me see you some- 
 times," repeated Quentin nervously. 
 
 " What good would that do, Mr. Quentin? You and 
 I have nothing in common. My husband is the only 
 man to whom I should go for advice unless I appeal 
 to a father of the Church, and my husband's permis- 
 sion I hope to obtain ere long. That is the only im- 
 pediment to my entering a sisterhood." 
 
 Quentin had risen and stood with his arms folded. 
 
 "The only impediment! " he repeated. 
 
 Alixe arose and the Archbishop also. 
 
 "And now good-by," said Alixe. "It is good-by 
 for all time." There was the suspicion of a tear in 
 her voice. She coughed and quickly controlled her- 
 self. " I am fond of my friends, Mr. Quentin, and I 
 connect you with my dear Abbey. I often think of 
 my happy days there, and of the friends whom I met 
 there and of the ones — the one I have lost. I think 
 that you would have been a friend to me, too, could I 
 have remained in the world; but, believe me, I am 
 doing the best thing for us all." Alixe looked down- 
 ward, ceased suddenly, and put her hand to her breast
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 325 
 
 with an exclamation of dismay. Quentin, who feared 
 that she was ill, sprang forward, but saw at once that 
 from the folds of her dress there hung a tiny chain 
 whose catch was loose. She was holding it in her 
 fingers, looking at the hanging ends. 
 
 "What is it, my dear? " 
 
 "I have dropped something, Your Grace. Mr. 
 Quentin, promise me you will not move, promise! 
 Dear Archbishop, do not take a step, I implore you. 
 You will crush it. It is an ornament I wear in mem- 
 ory of a friend." Alixe was down on her knees 
 searching the floor. 
 
 'Virginia Danielli," whispered the Archbishop to 
 Quentin, " a great factor in her memory for me and 
 against you ! " Alixe was searching everywhere, 
 groping, groping. Slowly rising at last, she stood, 
 peering beneath sofas and chairs. 
 
 " I will have it found, and send it to you, " said His 
 Grace. 
 
 " No, dear Archbishop, no ! " she answered. " I 
 must have it before I go away." 
 
 Suddenly from a far corner Quentin perceived the 
 shining of a ray of light. He started toward it, but the 
 older man was before him. Together they stooped, and 
 Quentin, out of respect to the Archbishop, allowed him 
 to pick up the gem. As His Grace advanced toward 
 Alixe she almost snatched the ring from his hand, so 
 anxious did she seem to regain possession of it. 
 
 * You must greatly prize it, " said he ; " allow me 
 to aid you " ; but she had closed her fingers upon the 
 treasure, and was pushing it within the palm of her 
 black glove. 
 
 "It — it — is something of Gartha's," said Alixe. 
 " She lost it in — in — my room — one day."
 
 326 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " And you are keeping it to restore to her? " 
 
 "Yes — if — she— asks it." 
 
 Alixe hurriedly pushed open the door. " Good-by, 
 dear Archbishop ; good-by, Mr. Quentin. " Her trail- 
 ing gown swept through the opening ; so swift was 
 her flight that the door had closed upon her before 
 the two men could realize that she was gone. 
 
 " Ah, that is so like her. That is her nature. So 
 loving and faithful," said the placid old man. " The 
 little child's ring! She was wearing it around her 
 throat beneath her gown. You saw where the chain 
 had escaped and hung loose—" and then breaking 
 ff_ « You see how hopeless it all is, Mr. Quentin. 
 How little she cares to take up her earthly life again. 
 I think she is dead to all earthly friendships, except, 
 perhaps, the purest of loves, and that for little Gar- 
 tha. She intends, as you heard her say, to come into 
 the Church and enter a sisterhood if her husband will 
 give his permission. And you see how worse than 
 foolish it would be for her to keep up even a sem- 
 blance of friendship with a young man like yourself. 
 Such friendships lead to no good. You see that, do 
 you not? " 
 
 "Yes, I see," said Quentin. His tone was so joy- 
 ous that the Archbishop raised his eyes in astonish- 
 ment. The color had come to the young man's face, 
 the smile to his lip. There was a light in his eye 
 that had not been there for many a day. " I see, 
 Your Grace, I see," he repeated. 
 
 For had he not seen and recognized the lost charm 
 for which Alixe had searched so anxiously? The 
 charm which she had worn about her neck close to her 
 heart, the ring which he had given Gartha? 
 
 "And now, my young friend, good-by. Give up
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 327 
 
 this foolish sentiment. Go home and marry one of 
 your estimable American girls, they are all beautiful 
 and they are all rich, and do not try to meddle with 
 foreign duchesses. Above all things, do not imagine 
 for a moment that, when once the Church has her grasp 
 upon such a woman as that, you, puny worldling that 
 you are, can change her mind." 
 
 "I thank you for your goodness, Your Grace," said 
 Quentin. 'You have put new life in me. And 
 whether that woman immures herself within one of 
 your cloisters or no, whether she takes the veil or 
 returns to the world, I shall ever be the happier for 
 what has passed here to-day. I thank you. Good- 
 by." 
 
 'That is rather a serious quantity to reckon with," 
 said the Archbishop as he touched his bell ; " a very 
 stubborn, determined character. But he can do noth- 
 ing ; the fates, Alixe, and I are against him. Against 
 such a combination who can stand?" And then to 
 his secretary, "Send in the next visitor."
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Quentin returned to his hotel, his heart singing 
 for joy. He sat thinking deeply most of the afternoon, 
 going over and over again in his mind the scenes at 
 the Archbishop's. At last, about four o'clock, he de- 
 cided to go to the apartment on the Kive Gauche and 
 give notice to the proprietor that after the month was 
 up he should not need the rooms. Why should he 
 remain in that quarter of the town if Alixe was far re- 
 moved from him in another? When he arrived, the 
 proprietor was not at home, but Quentin nevertheless 
 went up to his apartments. He did not drag himself 
 up the circular stairs with slow and lagging step, but 
 sprang like a boy off for a holiday. He unlocked his 
 door and went in. The rooms looked bright and 
 sunny, and evidently had been well cared for during 
 the days when he had not thought it necessary to visit 
 them. He disliked the idea of giving them up, for 
 although he felt certain that Alixe was in that other 
 religious house, far removed from him across the 
 river, still this was the place where he had sat and 
 thought of her, dreamed of her; and everything in the 
 room reminded him of her, for as he had looked at 
 the different objects about him, his thoughts had 
 ever been of Alixe in the different phases in which he 
 had seen her. Here was the little white hat, a pen- 
 wiper, which he had bought because it reminded him 
 of the Bussian hat which she had always worn at the
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 329 
 
 Abbey. There was a tiny print of a church, whose 
 trees peered above the ruined walls, and brought to 
 mind the place where he had spent a few blissful 
 days. There, hanging opposite his couch, was the 
 picture cut from an illustrated paper, of a tall and 
 lovely woman dressed in black, a rope of beads around 
 her waist, in her hand a crucifix. This vision was in 
 his mind's eye as he pushed through the open win- 
 dow, and went out upon the little balcony. He 
 walked along to the further corner, which was screened 
 by fir trees and plants ; and looking over their tops 
 into the garden, he saw the woman of whom he was 
 thinking. She was sitting on a bench, her small 
 black hat was on her knee. She was looking at her 
 companion, whom Quentin perceived at a glance to be 
 the Archbishop. He seemed to be talking earnestly, 
 and she was listening with deep attention. 
 
 Quentin could hardly restrain himself from calling 
 across the noisy street, " So you thought to fool me, 
 Your Grace. But I have found you out ! " But 
 even had he called, his voice could not have carried 
 above the din of the moving vehicles ; and he must 
 content himself with gazing and gazing upon the 
 pair, rather on the woman sitting in the garden be- 
 low. His Grace and Alixe remained for a quarter 
 hour, and then he rose. She gave him her hand, and 
 he raised the other above her head as if in blessing. 
 The gesture struck a chill to Quentin's heart. It 
 seemed that she must have finally promised that 
 which the Archbishop had asked of her. Then they 
 turned. Alixe picked up her hat, which had fallen 
 to the ground, and he lost sight of them beneath the 
 arching trees of the garden. 
 
 It was but the work of a moment for Quentin to
 
 330 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 awake from his daze, run in through the window, 
 seize his hat, fling out of the room, and descend the 
 stairs. He sprang downward with boyish leaps and 
 jumps. As he came into the street he was surprised 
 to see how the dusk was creeping on. He hurried 
 along, hoping to meet the Archbishop at the convent 
 gate. The pavement was wellnigh bare of pedes- 
 trians ; but as he hastened, some one was there ahead 
 of him, some one whose shabby black, so familiar and 
 hateful to his eye, told him that it was Halle, the dis- 
 honored priest. He was waiting at the corner of the 
 street, his body hidden by the angle of the wall, his 
 head just peering around the corner. Danger to the 
 Archbishop was Quentin's first thought. Had he not 
 been really attracted by this delightful old prelate, 
 still his first thought would have been to protect 
 him from a man whom he considered bad enough to 
 commit any dark deed ; but he was fond of the Arch- 
 bishop, notwithstanding their disagreements, and he 
 was not fond of Robert Halle. He determined in a 
 twinkling to obstruct the priest's plans and warn the 
 Archbishop. He came up behind Halle, and walking 
 round in front of him, he said, "Ah, Father Halle, 
 waiting to see the Archbishop? " 
 
 Halle started at the unexpected voice coming so 
 suddenly out of the dusk, and turned on Quentin with 
 a face livid with either fear or rage, perhaps a combi- 
 nation of both. His air of surprise was natural, but 
 not the tone with which he greeted the newcomer. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Quentin," he said, "I did not expect to 
 see you here." 
 
 "No," said Quentin, "I don't suppose you did. 
 You know His Grace is inside, do you not? " 
 
 "His Grace?" Halle put on an air of surprise. 

 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 331 
 
 " Perhaps it will not be difficult for you to imagine, 
 Mr. Quentin, that the Archbishop, after his injustice 
 and cruelty to me, is the last man in all Paris whom 
 I wish to see." 
 
 " Be careful, then, how you appear to wish to see 
 him, Mr. Halle," said Quentin, and walked onward to 
 where His Grace was just issuing from the gateway. 
 As he approached the Archbishop, Halle slunk back 
 around the corner and disappeared in the night. 
 
 Quentin advanced into the ray of the lamp. At first 
 the old man did not recognize the younger one, but 
 as Quentin came out under the faint light of the lan- 
 tern which hung above the gate, the Archbishop 
 started. 
 
 "Ha, Mr. Quentin! Again in this quarter? Now 
 tell me, I beg of you, what is your interest over here 
 on the Rive Gauche? " 
 
 " I told you before, Your Grace, but that is not what 
 I wish to speak of now. May I get into your car- 
 riage with you and ride a little way ? " 
 
 The Archbishop, unaccustomed to so much freedom 
 from younger men, bowed coldly and entered his car- 
 riage. "Get in, Mr. Quentin," he said, courteously 
 giving his self-invited guest the seat upon his right. 
 " I can take you but a short distance. I must stop in 
 the Boulevard St. Germain." 
 
 As the horses started Quentin turned to the Arch- 
 bishop. 
 
 " Have you seen that man Halle lately, Your Grace?" 
 
 "Halle? No! You mean the priest? I have never 
 seen him since I denounced him. I suppose you 
 met him at the Abbey. I hear that he was there and 
 that the owner is very stubborn about receiving him 
 there. That is almost the only topic on which we
 
 332 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 disagree at present. She imagines him wronged, 
 that circumstances are against him, that he will be 
 able to clear himself some day. It was not so much 
 the money that he took, though that was a consider- 
 able sum; but it was that dreadful deed, stealing 
 from the Church. Why, Mr. Quentin, if Halle had 
 robbed us of the vessels of the sacrament I should 
 hardly have been more shocked." 
 
 " I have reason to think that he has no love for you, 
 Tour Grace." 
 
 "Of that I am well aware," said the Archbishop 
 sadly, " but the poor wretch cannot harm me. My 
 position in the matter and my proofs are too well 
 known to those in authority." 
 
 "He can do harm to your person, Your Grace. 
 That is why I asked to drive with you a little way. 
 I had just stumbled upon him. He was lurking past 
 the corner of the wall back there in the side street. 
 He was, I think, watching for your exit from " 
 
 " Oh, no ! Mr. Quentin," said the Archbishop, smil- 
 ing incredulously. " Badly as I think of him, I can- 
 not believe that a man who has once been a priest of 
 the Church would stoop to commit such a crime. He 
 may have wanted to speak to me. He cannot come to 
 my house. My servants have had orders not to allow 
 him to enter. He had his day and his trial. Per- 
 haps he thought this his only chance of meeting me. 
 Should he write and make an appointment, I would see 
 him once more, if only to tell him how hopeless these 
 appeals are. I offered, in the first place, to send him 
 to a brotherhood, one of the remote, silent brother- 
 hoods, where no word is spoken. That he would 
 have none of. He wishes' to be again an honored 
 priest, officiating in a church here in Paris. This I
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 333 
 
 was not willing that he should be, and what I ask is 
 listened to by those who decide such matters. I can- 
 not consider it a sincere repentance, if he is not will- 
 ing to wear out his life in whatever part of our Mas- 
 ter's work the Church sets for him to do. But that 
 he is willing to play the part of a criminal, I should 
 not be willing to believe." 
 
 Quentin could but feel that the Archbishop was 
 too trusting. His anxiety had been added to by the 
 remembrance of Halle's sudden hiding of his hand be- 
 hind him. He would have turned and grappled with 
 the priest to discover what he had thus secreted, but 
 for hearing the gate open, and wishing to warn the 
 Archbishop before he could drive away. 
 
 "I will not argue longer in that direction, Your 
 Grace, " said Quentin ; " but if you have time to listen, 
 let me tell you my experience with this precious 
 priest." Whereupon he began to relate to the prelate 
 all that he knew of Halle, his endeavor to frighten 
 him (Quentin) out of the chalet rooms, the scene with 
 St. Aubin and the workman under the wall at night, 
 and his final encounter with Halle on the hilltop. 
 The Archbishop listened attentively. When Quentin 
 had finished, he said, " You should have left the cha- 
 let, I think, as they requested. I cannot imagine 
 why he should be so angry with you, even if he 
 thought you were spying on him and his inventions. 
 It sounds all very absurd and ridiculous, not to say 
 rude and ill-bred ; but I can see nothing criminal in 
 it. I suppose, if they carry out their tests satisfac- 
 torily, St. Aubin will give Halle some sort of percent- 
 age " 
 
 " For doing his dirty work for him," burst in Quen- 
 tin.
 
 334 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Isn't that a rather strong expression, Mr. Quen- 
 tin? " returned the Archbishop mildly. " What proof 
 have you that there is any such thing as what you 
 call 'dirty work ' about their project? " 
 
 "Believe me, Your Grace," said Quentin earnestly, 
 " there is something wrong when men try to frighten 
 away, by such childish methods, a guest and* stranger 
 from the rooms which have been assigned him by his 
 hostess." 
 
 The carriage drew up at the pavement. " Here is 
 my destination," said the Archbishop. He sat for a 
 moment, his hand on the catch of the door, and turned 
 toward Quentin. 
 
 " I thank you much, Mr. Quentin, for your inten- 
 tion to be kind. Whether you are mistaken in your 
 surmises or no, you meant to do me a favor, and be- 
 lieve me, I fully appreciate it. But do not fear for 
 me. I am not afraid of Robert Halle or forty thou- 
 sand unfrocked priests, if there could be a possibility 
 of such a number, which God forbid ! Such cases as 
 his are rare. That makes them perhaps, in one way, 
 all the more distressing. We are not accustomed to 
 such a display of cupidity, and that is the reason — " 
 the Archbishop released the handle and turned toward 
 Quentin still further — " that is the reason why it has 
 seemed so strange. Halle had no reason to steal. 
 He was provided for, as are all of our clergy. He had 
 no need of money. That is the only thing that I 
 cannot understand about the matter." 
 
 " The money was wanted to put into these so-called 
 inventions," said Quentin. 
 
 " St. Aubin had an abundance, " said the Archbish- 
 op ; " that was a most foolish thing, taking his wife's 
 money to waste on these expensive experiments."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 335 
 
 "Halle may have wished to acid his share," said 
 Quentin. " What the cause may be, I do not know ; 
 but that pair of worthies are hand in glove in whatever 
 schemes they are concocting. Of that I saw enough 
 to feel sure. I really think Halle the better man of 
 the two." 
 
 The Archbishop smiled indulgently. 
 
 "A little prejudice, my friend, a little prejudice 
 perhaps. We all have our prejudices, you know. 
 We cannot always account for our prejudices." He 
 opened the door. 
 
 "Let me go with you to the house door, Your 
 Grace." 
 
 The Archbishop laid his hand on Quentin's. "I 
 thank you from the bottom of my heart, and none the 
 less because I know how utterly foolish are your fears 
 for me. Even had Halle a plan to injure me, he could 
 not have reached this place, so remote from where you 
 saw him, by this time. Do not fear for me, my friend. 
 Take my carriage and drive to your hotel; then send 
 it back for me. Good-by. I did not expect to see 
 you so soon again. You know you bid me an heroic 
 and an eternal farewell this morning ; but man pro- 
 poses, and it is God who disposes of us all for His 
 own great ends." 
 
 With these last words the Archbishop strode across 
 the pavement, and when he was well within the door, 
 Quentin told the coachman where to take him. All 
 the way back to his hotel he was thinking of the last 
 turn of the Archbishop's head and the rare and 
 kindly look with which he bowed him a farewell.
 
 xxxvrn. 
 
 Valery and Gartha had now been at the Abbey for 
 about a week. Alixe heard from Valery almost every- 
 day. His letters were full of moanings about the des- 
 olateness of the place. 
 
 "It is no more as it was, Alixe," he said. "I miss 
 you, and the English girls, and Quentin, and dear old 
 Mamasha. She does make a place seem so comfort- 
 able, if you only rub her the right way. How she does 
 purr and lick her pretty paws. I hope Eldon will 
 succeed in putting butter on them. I suspect the but- 
 ter will be in the shape of a great many handsome 
 rings. I went into Spaulding's to buy Gartha a ring, 
 in the place of one which she says she lost in your 
 room at the Abbey, and whom should I behold but 
 Mamasha looking at a necklace. I stood behind a 
 vase, and I heard the poor little soul actually bar- 
 gaining for the rent of it, just for the wedding ! The 
 truth is, Alixe, she wrote me some time ago, asking 
 that I would try to get you to let her wear the Duke's 
 diamonds just for that day, and I forgot all about it. 
 Where are they? Can I get them if I come to Paris? 
 If you will give me an order for them, I will send 
 them to her, first obtaining a paper signed by her that 
 they are to be returned in good condition the day 
 after the wedding. Dear little Mamasha ! You know 
 she doesn't always know th£> difference between meum 
 and tuum, and the necklace wouldn't either after it 
 had been in her possession for a few decades. I sent 
 her another draft the other day. Don't send any 
 more. She has all that a respectable widow woman
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 337 
 
 of her years should require. Let Eldon do the rest. 
 Really, Mamasha does press the button somewhat 
 often. 
 
 "Gartha longs to see you. She talks always of 
 that rare day in Paris when you went about shopping 
 with us, and we lunched at Armenonville. Why can't 
 you be a Christian, Alixe, give up your fads, and come 
 here for the house party? I'll send you a telegram 
 some day that will frighten you out of your senses, 
 and you will come before you know it. 
 
 "Gartha's love and mine. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 Valery. 
 
 "P.S. — Mademoiselle is here pulling as long a face 
 as one with a face of the shape of hers can. She says 
 that she never expected to live at the Abbey without 
 company, but is somewhat cheered when I tell her 
 that we are to have a regular house partj r next week. 
 Gartha will have nothing to say to her. She now calls 
 her the cacomistle, having seen one of those animals 
 in the Zoo in London. Gartha is down at the mill 
 all day long, or wandering round the place alone. I 
 cannot play lady's maid or child's nurse at my age. 
 The truth is, I'm too good-natured for this world. 
 When I'm dead, I should be canonized. Don't you 
 think it would be somewhat more consistent in you to 
 come here and look after your sister's child, than to 
 be hobnobbing with the Religious in Paris, no matter 
 how fascinating they may be? Allaire left Gartha to 
 you, you know, Alixe; and really I can do nothing 
 with her. The only persons to whom she will speak 
 are Marie and Pierre Monrouge. What she does at 
 the mill I don't know, but I expect to hear that she 
 has been ground up in the wheel, or drowned in the 
 pond, or has fallen off the wall, or out of the hay 
 loft " 
 
 There was a hurried knock at the door. 
 " Come in," called Alixe. 
 
 22
 
 338 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 The sister who entered, one of the serving sisters, 
 had in her hand a blue envelope. " A message, Ma- 
 dame," she said. 
 
 Alixe took the envelope from the sister, and tore it 
 open. Her fingers trembled. Where and from what 
 direction would it strike? 
 
 " Come at once," it ran. "Gartha is injured." 
 
 At first, every trace of color left her cheek. She 
 went to the nail where hung her black bonnet and 
 took it down. She looked into her purse to see if she 
 had money, she sought for her gloves and a plain 
 wrap, and then, suddenly, she burst into a merry 
 laugh. The sister, who waited to see if there was any 
 answer, looked up astonished. So merry a laugh she 
 had not heard for many a long day. 
 
 "Thank you, you may go," said Alixe; "it is noth- 
 ing." 
 
 She picked up Valery's letter from where it had 
 fallen on the floor, and with a smile on her face began 
 to read it over. When she came to the line which 
 read, "I'll send you a telegram some day that will 
 frighten you out of your senses," she laughed again. 
 
 " For shame, Valery," she cried aloud, " for shame, 
 to frighten me so about the child." 
 
 She finished Yalery's letter, then put her bonnet 
 and gloves away. Then she took her garden hat and 
 went out to the seat in the corner of the enclosure. 
 
 Alixe sat there thinking. All that had passed in 
 the last few days came back to her. She thought 
 often of Quentin, of Ms wish that she should be 
 happy. She remembered, and not for the first time, 
 what he said about taking an apartment in the same 
 street, where he could watch her, and, suddenly, she 
 .looked upward. There, across the. street behind the
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 339 
 
 firs and flowers, stood Quentin himself. He smiled 
 and waved his hand. She smiled back at him, but 
 shook her head and turned away. The sister was 
 coming toward her with a second envelope. 
 
 Alixe ran toward the messenger and tore open the 
 telegram, and this time she did not laugh. 
 
 " Come, for God's sake," it ran. " Gartha has been 
 burned. She may not live to see you. She asks for 
 you constantly." 
 
 With hurried step Alixe sought the Mother Supe- 
 rior, showed her the message, explained the cause of 
 her ignoring the first one, wrote an answer to be sent, 
 and was driving to the station ten minutes after the 
 second message had been read. She was fortunate in 
 finding a train starting in a few moments. She was 
 glad when she found that none had been despatched 
 since she received the first telegram. Alixe took her 
 seat, impatient and nervous. The two hours and a 
 half seemed like two years. She wondered what it 
 could be. Valery had said that Gartha was always at 
 the mill. Had there, by chance, been a fire at the mill ? 
 Had the house burned down, and the child, her sis- 
 ter's little Gartha, been crushed by falling walls? 
 Every horror that anxious love could conjure up to a 
 terrified soul came rushing to her distracted mind. 
 AVhen the train stopped at some way station and lost 
 time, Alixe felt as if she should go mad. 
 
 "What are we stopping for? " she asked the guard. 
 " What are all these delays? " 
 
 The guard, ignorant, as usual, on the smaller roads 
 in France, and a fatalist, as on most others, smiled 
 subserviently, shrugged his shoulders, thrust the 
 palms of his hands outward, and lounged slowly down 
 the track.
 
 340 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 When at last Alixe reached the little station in the 
 valley, she found Pierre Monrouge awaiting her. 
 She took her seat in the brougham with trembling 
 limbs. 
 
 "What is it, Pierre Monrouge?" she asked. "Is 
 the house burned? Is the mill burned? Where were 
 you all that you could not attend to Mademoiselle 
 Gartha? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle Gartha will obey no one but the 
 Duchesse, that the Duchesse knows," said Pierre 
 Monrouge respectfully. 
 
 Ah ! Alixe knew but too well that, had she been with 
 Gartha, the horror, whatever it was, might not have 
 happened. Here her duty lay — not back there in 
 Paris, away from all she loved. 
 
 "It was in the chalet, Madame," and nothing more 
 could be got out of Pierre Monrouge. That the fire 
 had been in the chalet was very plain to Alixe, for as 
 they passed it by, she saw that the outer walls had 
 partly fallen in, and that the smoking bricks lay upon 
 the road. The horses neighed and snorted, but the 
 workmen who were clearing away the debris seized 
 the bridle and led them clear, and Alixe was at the 
 gate. 
 
 Valery met her as it opened. 
 
 " Where is she? " asked Alixe. 
 
 " In your room. She would be taken nowhere else." 
 
 Alixe flew across the terrace, through the salon, and 
 up the stairs. She waited at the door of her chamber, 
 gathering courage to enter. 
 
 "I heard you," called a piping voice; "the Weasel 
 has just gone down the other way." 
 
 Alixe passed through into her own great chamber. 
 There in the centre of the bed, the one which Miss
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 341 
 
 Spencer had likened to the Great Bed of Ware, was a 
 bundle of white. Alixe bent over it and kissed it, her 
 tears falling fast. 
 
 " Oh, my little Gartha ! And I away from you ! " 
 
 "Ah! nom de Dieu, you certainly ought to have 
 been here, Alixe. You know very well that I will 
 mind no one but you. Not Valery always. But I 
 cannot blame you leading your gay life in Paris! 
 I am sorry to take you away from it, Alixe," Gartha 
 gave a long sigh, Alixe a longer one; "but Valery 
 says this is your plain duty." 
 
 " Where does it hurt you, darling? " 
 
 " Well, pretty much all over. The reason you can't 
 see my face is that they have bound me up. I do not 
 know when they did it. They put something to my 
 nose ; it was lovely, but of an odor ! Oh, but of an 
 odor! or they should not have did it," Gartha spoke 
 slowly, she was tired. " Have — you — come — to stay ? " 
 
 ' Yes, yes, my darling, to stay ! To stay forever ! " 
 
 " Did my father, did Valery esplain to you, Alixe? " 
 
 " No, darling, I hardly saw him. I came directly 
 up to you. But you must not talk so much. Your 
 father will tell me later." 
 
 "I must tell you a little," said Gartha in a weak 
 voice. :< You see I will mind no one but you. My lit- 
 tle mamma gave me to you, and when the Weasel, I 
 mean the cacomistle, said, 'Do not!' I did it. Je 
 m'en bats l'ceil." 
 
 Alixe was laughing and crying together. 
 
 ' Well, one fine day I went where I had been forbid- 
 den to go." 
 
 "One day?" 
 
 " Oh ! Alixe, do not stories begin always that way. 
 It was this morning, but I cannot help that — I went
 
 342 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 to my Uncle Bruno's rooms. Ob, how I hate my 
 Uncle Bruno! I have not been there since— since, 
 oh, well, quand j'etais gosse." 
 
 Alixe smiled indulgently at the forbidden argot. 
 
 " Well, you went into your Uncle Bruno's rooms. 
 How did you get in, by the way? " 
 
 "Marie Monrouge had been clean, clean— le net- 
 toyage, you know, Alixe. Uncle Bruno wrote to her 
 to while no one was here. It seems that he did not 
 understand that Mamasha would marry with the Lord 
 Eldon and all of us was coming, and nat— naturally I 
 went in with Marie Monrouge." 
 
 "Yes, it was very natural," said Alixe. 
 
 " Eh bien ! while Marie Monrouge was in the fur- 
 ther room, au fond, you know, Alixe, suddenly I saw 
 a cunning little box, but of the cunningest. I opened 
 it " 
 
 "Poor little Pandora!" said Yalery's voice. He 
 came and stood at the foot of the bed. 
 
 " I am tired, let— Yalery— tell " 
 
 " I will tell Alixe down-stairs. " Yalery put his fin- 
 ger on his lip, and soon there was quiet in the room, 
 hardly broken by Gartha's soft breathing. 
 
 When Alixe could withdraw her fingers from Gar- 
 tha's, she went away with Yalery, to learn how the 
 little girl had started some machinery in motion by 
 turning a small lever. Then, hearing an ominous 
 ticking and buzzing, she became frightened, and ran 
 toward the door. She was on the landing when the 
 explosion took place, and because of that probably 
 escaped death. Marie Monrouge was in the third 
 chamber, but beyond being terribly frightened by the 
 falling of bricks, she was taken out unhurt. 
 
 Alixe now took upon herself all the care of the child.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 343 
 
 She allowed the trained nurse to do only what she 
 herself was not competent to do. After a few days 
 the physician sent for from Paris to consult with the 
 doctor from the hospital in the village, said that he 
 felt sure that Gartha would recover the use of her 
 limbs and be as she was before. There would be 
 scars, but not on her face. 
 
 On the sixth day of Alixe's presence at the Abbey, 
 Gartha had the bandage removed from her face. She 
 was lying back on the pillows, and as usual, when not 
 too tired, was talking. 
 
 " Alixe, did you ever hear of any one being married 
 on her bed of death, on her lit de mort? " 
 
 "I do not know," said Alixe; "yes, I believe I 
 have." 
 
 " Bien ! the Weasel told me of such a thing. Now 
 will you do a thing that shall please me? " 
 
 "Yes, dear, what is it?" 
 
 "Put on your halo, Sainte Vierge." 
 
 "Oh, Gartha! Do not say such things." 
 
 " The Russian hat ! The Russian hat ! I will have 
 you in the Russian hat. The Weasel has read me a 
 tale once about a lady who was dying, and she asked 
 to be married to her lover on her bed of death. Have 
 you gone for the halo, Alixe ? " 
 
 'Yes, Gartha, I have it on," said Alixe, coming 
 back to the bedside. 
 
 "You must excuse me, "said Gartha, ''my eyesight 
 is a little impaired. That is what the English doctor 
 from Paris said it would be — " imitating the pom- 
 pous tone of that physician — " ' but for a time, dear 
 little mademoiselle, only for a time. ' She asked to be 
 married (the lady, I mean) with her lover on her lit de 
 mort," said Gartha, resuming her narrative. "He
 
 344 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 did not like her very much, that is bad when one likes 
 not one's femme, but as she would be dead and gone in 
 a few short days, he consents. Eh bien ! The priests 
 came, and they bring all the necessary things, I do 
 not know what they are, and the lover stood up by 
 the lady's bed, and they were married fast and firm, 
 when suddenly, lo, and behold! sapristi! if you 
 believe, that lady begins to improve. Every morning 
 when the lover, now the husban', comes to the door, 
 and whines, ' How is my dear wife this morning? ' 
 the nurse answers, ' She is much improved, Mon- 
 sieur. Galloping at a pace, oh, but a pace ! toward 
 the health. ' 
 
 " Finally, one fatal day, she conceives the idea of 
 getting up and standing behind the door. So up 
 comes the mari and says, ' How is my dear wife this 
 morning? ' when suddenly out she springs to him, say- 
 ing, ' My dear lover, I am well ! ' With this the hus- 
 ban' was so surprise that, sapristi ! down he drops 
 dead from mal atroce, and the wife lives happy ever 
 after." 
 
 Alixe and Valery were laughing at the termination 
 of this sad story, when Gartha began to speak again. 
 
 " Do not laugh or make merry at my espense, my 
 dear aunt and father. I think I am, myself, near 
 death. So I beg of you to call my faithful servants 
 round me and send for John Quentin to marry me, 
 that we may look our last on the hillside where he 
 licked Robert Halle, and I may rest easy in my grave." 
 
 The tears were running down Valery 's face, but not 
 from grief. " How they do stuff children with that 
 stilted nonsense, " he said. " But suppose you should 
 get well, Gartha, what would John Quentin do then? " 
 
 "That is just the very greates' trouble," said Gar-
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 345 
 
 tha earnestly. " If I was sure that I was indeed struck 
 with death, that I had the final coup, I would have 
 you send for him, but as I am not quite certain, I 
 might get well and it would be — a — embarrassment of 
 him. It might be a embarrassment de moi aussi, 
 Valery. And it would embarrass Jan McDonal' still 
 the more. I have promise to marry Jan McDonal'. 
 I would send for him now, but he could not get here 
 in time, and as long as I am struck with death, it 
 makes but little matter who the man may be." 
 
 "Gartha, you will be the death of me!" shouted 
 Valery. "I think I'll run up to Paris to-morrow. I 
 warned off the Eldons, and you may be sure dear old 
 Mamasha doesn't want any death-bed scenes, but I 
 might bring Quentin down." 
 
 " I hope that you will do nothing of the kind," said 
 Alixe; "we are not ready for visitors, Valery, and I 
 am in no state to see any one." 
 
 " Do you really think I shall get well? " asked Gar- 
 tha in a disappointed tone. " Because if you are not 
 quite, quite sure, sur et certain, you might ask John 
 Quentin to come back with you, and his Emnunce, to 
 commit the services."
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 So it came about that Alixe and Gartha were left 
 alone. Alixe had moved the child to a small couch 
 where she could care for her more easily. At night 
 the great iron doors of the Abbess's room were dou- 
 ble locked and bolted, and Alixe felt secure as in a 
 fortress. 
 
 It was on the night that Valery had left the Abbey. 
 Alixe was in her bed ; Gartha asleep. Suddenly, out 
 of the stillness of the night, there came a knocking on 
 the iron door. Alixe opened to find Marie Monrouge 
 standing there, her eyes staring wide. 
 
 "Oh, Madame," she said, "Father Halle is here, 
 and he says that he must see you." 
 
 Alixe had not time to more than throw on her dress- 
 ing gown, before Halle was at the door also. He 
 pushed into the room, crying, " Save me, Alixe ! Save 
 me!" 
 
 "Hush!" said Alixe sternly. "Do you not know? 
 Can you not see? " She pointed toward Gartha' s bed. 
 The child stirred uneasily in her sleep. "That is 
 what you and Bruno have brought her to. I know 
 not how ! I do not ask, but the least you can do " 
 
 As Alixe spoke there was a loud ringing at the outer 
 gate, the door within the wall. Halle sank down 
 upon the floor, clinging to Alixe 's robe. " Oh, rescue 
 me ! Rescue me ! " he cried. He shook, he trembled. 
 It was plain he was in a state of abject terror.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 347 
 
 " Save you ! And from what? " 
 
 " Open ! Open in the name of the law ! " The 
 shout came clear and distinct from beyond the gate. 
 
 "Who are those that come at this time of the 
 night? " asked Alixe of Halle. " Have they come 
 here for you? " 
 
 " They are the officers of the law. Oh, save me, I 
 beg of you ! Save me, Alixe ! If not for the love that 
 I have ever borne you, then for the sake of our life- 
 long friendship." 
 
 "Be silent!" said Alixe sternly. "Marie Mon- 
 rouge " (to the trembling maid), " who saw this " (a 
 motion of the head toward the cringing figure), " this 
 priest come in here? " 
 
 " No one, Madame. He came from the fields " 
 
 "I have been in hiding all day. I climbed into the 
 loft. I heard the men talking, they said it had been 
 discovered " 
 
 * What had been discovered? Marie Monrouge, go 
 down and keep out of the way ! Go to your mother. 
 If any one asks you if you have seen Father Halle — 
 say — avoid answering. In fact, Marie Monrouge, 
 you had better keep quite out of the way, for I 
 would not have you tell a falsehood, even for Father 
 Halle." 
 
 Marie Monrouge slipped down the stairs, crossed 
 the salon, and hid her quaking form within the ruins, 
 where she heard again, and yet a third time, the de- 
 mand, " Open ! open ! in the name of the law ! " 
 
 " What had they discovered? " Alixe repeated the 
 question to the priest. 
 
 "The— the Archbishop's death. Had you not? 
 Oh, God!" for she had fallen upon the floor. 
 
 She quickly recovered herself. "Oh, my dear
 
 348 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Archbishop!" she cried aloud. "Dead! Dead! My 
 dear Archbishop! And they suspect you? Poor 
 Robert! Why not go out and face them? " the tears 
 were flooding Alixe's face. " And they say that you 
 are guilty? Oh, my dear Archbishop, my dear old 
 friend ! " 
 
 But Halle was cringing and crawling at her feet. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot, I cannot ! Close the door, I beg, I 
 beg of you. They will never look for me here." 
 
 "No," said Alixe, "they will never look for you 
 here." 
 
 She looked down at him through blinding tears. 
 
 " Ouvrez ! ouvrez ! au nom de la loi ! " 
 
 Through the open window Alixe heard the bolts 
 withdrawn and the great gate flung wide. Lights 
 flashed on the terrace, she caught sounds of interro- 
 gations, and denials, then she heard the officers enter 
 the chateau and the tramping of footsteps as they 
 searched the lower rooms. Gartha moved in her sleep. 
 Alixe ran to her. " Here, Sweet ! " she said, and rais- 
 ing the child upon her arm, she gave her a sleeping 
 potion one hour too early. Gartha sank back with a 
 sigh. 
 
 "I thought I saw Robert Halle," she muttered. 
 " You know how I hate Eobert Halle — only a — lit — 
 little — less than — my — Uncle — Bruno. " 
 
 " We must lock the door, Alixe ; we must make fast 
 the door." 
 
 Alixe turned and again surveyed the black figure 
 prostrate before her. The man was unshorn and un- 
 kempt. His black robe was muddy, his sandals were 
 covered with the loam of the fields. She went to the 
 iron door and closed it, then she stood and listened. 
 She heard the search going on below.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 349 
 
 "Is it certain that he is dead? " she asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Halle. 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 " The street gamins, the newsboys, were crying it 
 in Paris before I left. " 
 
 "When was it?" 
 
 " In the night some time. " 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 The priest shuddered and put his hands before his 
 face. 
 
 " I know what they said. They called, ' In the 
 night, in the night ! ' " 
 
 " When did you see His Grace last? " 
 
 " Many days ago." Alixe fixed the shifty eyes with 
 her steady look. 
 
 " Had you a hand in — in — this? " 
 
 Halle looked down and muttered: "I had not." 
 
 " Will you swear it? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, anything! Only do not open the door 
 to them." 
 
 Alixe took from the chiffonier her silver cross. 
 
 "Swear," she said, "on Virginia's cross." She 
 held out the symbol. The priest shuddered and drew 
 back, but at the increasing noise below he eagerly 
 clutched it and kissed it fervently. " I swear ! " he 
 whispered hoarsely, " I swear ! " 
 
 There were footsteps on the stairs. They came 
 nearer and more near. Then sounded the expected 
 summons on the panel of the door. "Open! open! 
 in the name of the law ! " 
 
 Alixe looked toward the priest crouched upon the 
 floor. He was edging toward the bed. He reached 
 out his arm and raised the valance. He was about 
 to conceal himself there. Alixe shook her head and
 
 350 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 made motion with her lips, "They will look there 
 first." 
 
 Again the summons at the door. 
 
 Alixe straightened herself to her full height. 
 
 "Who is it that comes at the dead of night to 
 frighten helpless and unprotected women? " 
 
 " Open, Madame la Duchesse, and we will tell you. 
 This door, all doors, must be opened." Alixe glanced 
 again at Halle. He was shaking as if in a chill. He 
 rolled his sunken eyes at her beseechingly. He 
 clasped his shaking hands in supplication, then 
 clutched her robe, and wound his fingers in the long 
 braid of hair that fell to the lace ruffle which swept 
 the floor. His face had lost all trace of color. 
 
 "They will take me," he whined, in a broken whis- 
 per — the tears were raining down his cheeks, his ton- 
 sured head was bare. Alixe could not repress a feel- 
 ing of disgust as she looked at him. "I will open in 
 a moment," she called; " give me but a moment. Get 
 up," she whispered. The man arose, she threw back 
 the cover of the bed. " Hide there ! " She nodded 
 her head with a contemptuous motion toward the 
 opening. " Back, back ! " she whispered, " or I will 
 not answer for your safety." 
 
 When she turned again to the door there was naught 
 to be seen of the priest. He had shrunken down be- 
 hind the great piece of furniture, and was almost con- 
 cealed in the crack between it and the wall. 
 
 Alixe took Gartha up in her arms, she spoke aloud 
 to her and soothingly : " Do not be frightened, my 
 Sweet. It is I, Alixe," and laid her down in the mid- 
 dle of the bed. Then she again approached the door. 
 Her motions had been so swift that the rapping was 
 only just renewed. Then she spoke.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 351 
 
 "Who is it that you seek? " 
 
 " A priest. A man named Halle. It is known that 
 he struck the Archbishop down last night as he came 
 from a visit to the Cardinal. We must search here as 
 well as elsewhere." 
 
 "You must wait a moment," said Alixe; "when I 
 call, then enter." 
 
 She unlocked the door, walked swiftly to the bed 
 and lay down by Gartha, her hand caressing the child. 
 
 "Now enter," she called. 
 
 The door was opened, and three sergeants de ville 
 pushed into the room. As they entered, Alixe, who 
 could not preserve the deceiving appearance of calm 
 which she had planned, arose to a sitting posture. 
 
 " And is this the manner, " she asked, " in which the 
 police of France protect the people who live within 
 their borders? Do they force themselves in on 
 women and little children? The child has been ill, 
 burned, near death, and } r ou come expecting to find 
 the Archbishop's murderer here. Do you know that 
 the Archbishop was my friend? Would I, think you, 
 willingly harbor his murderer? " 
 
 Alixe had now arisen and stood in the middle of the 
 floor, scornfully surveying, from her tall height, the 
 short officer in front of her. 
 
 It was a wonderful picture that upon which he 
 looked. Her splendid hair fell in great braids, and 
 swept the lace at the bottom of her robe. Her white 
 feet were bare. In her hand she still held the ame- 
 thyst cross, which caught the lights reflected from the 
 lantern in the hand of one of the soldiers. 
 
 The chief officer cast a suspicious glance about the 
 great room. 
 
 " To whom were you speaking? " he demanded.
 
 352 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "I was soothing the child," she said, motioning 
 with her head toward the little white heap. 
 
 " Is there no one else here? " 
 
 " You may look, you may search, you have my full 
 permission." 
 
 "We know that the man we seek is a frequent 
 guest of the Abbey." 
 
 " Yes, yes, he has been. He was a friend of us all. 
 We never credited aught against him. I will not be- 
 lieve that he committed this dreadful deed ; but, if he 
 were here, and I believed your charge against him, 
 do you not think that I would give him up to you, old 
 friends though we are? " 
 
 " Will you swear that he is not in the room ? " 
 
 Alixe threw her head proudly back, and looked 
 down upon the man from lids which were almost 
 closed. In her most scornful voice she said : 
 
 " I have told you that he is not here. Is not that 
 enough? " 
 
 "Madame la Duchesse swears it? " 
 
 " He is not here," was the reply. " The man whom 
 you seek is not here." 
 
 The officer in charge cast an irresolute glance at the 
 two sergeants de ville. "It is enough, Madame," he 
 said. He bowed and withdrew with the others into the 
 hall. When they were half way down the stair Alixe 
 closed the door and locked it. 
 
 She swept across the room and neared the bed. 
 
 "Come, Robert," she whispered. "Come, you are 
 saved ! " She heard the heavy footsteps below stairs, 
 crossing the salon. She heard the men go to the 
 outer gate, which the quaking Charles opened only 
 too willingly, and ride away toward Moncousis. The 
 priest had heard also the departing gallop of the
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 353 
 
 horses. He slid from the protecting cover, and re- 
 mained standing where his sandalled feet touched the 
 floor. His look was fastened upon Alixe, the woman 
 who had just rescued him from shame and death. 
 Alixe raised her eyes to his with relief, but there was 
 something repellant in the gaze that he turned upon 
 her, something new, of freedom, and presumption, 
 and demand. For the first time in her life Alixe felt 
 a horror of him ; she was afraid. 
 
 She went swiftly to the head of the bed, and drew 
 aside the curtains. "Come here," she said sternly. 
 
 The withdrawal of the curtains discovered a recess 
 and sliding panel within the wall. 
 
 "Help me," she ordered. The tone was new to 
 Halle. Together they pushed the heavy mass of 
 wood and iron away. Alixe reached her hand within 
 the recess and unlocked the panel. She pushed it 
 aside. It slid within its case in the thick wall. She 
 turned to the priest, and pointing to the opening, she 
 uttered the one word, " Go ! " 
 
 He stretched out his arms to her. His gaze envel- 
 oped her with a bold and despairing admiration, he 
 seemed devouring her beauty, a beauty of whose rav- 
 ishing extent he had never dreamed until now. 
 
 The look of the priest was glaring, intense, fixed. 
 It rapidly became one of insult, an unholy passion 
 blazed within his eyes, he took a step nearer. Alixe 
 shrank back and awaj r from him. She held him with 
 a steady eye, though her heart was bursting with 
 anger and fear. She pointed toward the open door- 
 way with an imperious motion of the hand. 
 
 " Go ! " she said, in a low and steady voice. " I hear 
 the horses again. It may have been only a ruse." 
 At her words Halle, with a look of terror, slunk to- 
 23
 
 354 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 ward the opening. " And if they do return, I shall 
 tell no more lies for you, coward ! " 
 
 As Alixe closed the panel it grazed the shoulder of 
 the priest. She pushed it quickly home and locked 
 it, and also pushed in place the heavy bolt, and then, 
 the strain being over, she threw herself upon her 
 knees in the Abbess's prie-dieu. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Archbishop ! " she cried. " My dear, 
 dear Archbishop ! "
 
 XL. 
 
 Quentin watched the corner of the garden for sev- 
 eral days, but he did not see Alixe again. He 
 haunted the churches and scanned the journals to see 
 if any one, or rather the one in whom he was inter- 
 ested, had taken the vows which would shut her 
 away from the world and himself forever more, but 
 he heard of no one that he knew taking up the con- 
 ventual life. Finally, after an interminable two 
 weeks of long days spent on his balcony with no re- 
 ward, he left his apartment one afternoon, determined 
 to seek the Archbishop and implore him once more 
 to tell him all that he knew. After leaving the door 
 of his house he walked along the little street, and 
 came to the great gate of the convent. Suddenly a 
 new thought struck him. Why not go boldly in and 
 ask to see Alixe herself? No sooner thought of than 
 done. He rang the bell and at once greeted the sis- 
 ter in attendance. 
 
 " I wish to see the Duchesse di Brazzia," said Quen- 
 tin. 
 
 " The Duchesse di Brazzia? I know of no such per- 
 son," said the sister. "Is it, perhaps, the tall lady 
 who has just taken the veil? " 
 
 How far down Quentin's heart sank at these words 
 he could not estimate. It seemed a physical fall of 
 that organ, and it thumped and beat in its fall like a 
 steam-hammer.
 
 356 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " She has taken the veil ! " he exclaimed, and then 
 leaned against the inside of the gate unable to say- 
 more. 
 
 The gentle little sister, seeing his distress, sug- 
 gested: "Perhaps Monsieur would like to see the 
 Mother Superior. She can tell the monsieur more 
 than I can." 
 
 Quentin followed the serving sister as if in a dream. 
 She took him into the interior of the convent, and 
 seated him in the reception room. When he was left 
 alone he became a prey to the gravest fears, the bit- 
 terest thoughts. Could it be possible that her life 
 had been so hard that she had voluntarily resigned 
 the world and its friendships? He did not say pleas- 
 ures, for Alixe had had few real pleasures. He felt 
 suddenly a renewed animosity toward his friend, 
 Madame. Even were Alixe unhappily married, was 
 not her mother left to her? Could not she soften this 
 hardest of all hard trials? 
 
 He groaned and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 "You wish to speak with me? " 
 
 Quentin looked up to see a woman in the habit of a 
 nun standing near him. He had not heard her enter, 
 and yet the room had been deathlike in its stillness. 
 
 Quentin arose at once and controlled himself. 
 
 " Madame, " said he, " may I see the Duchesse di 
 Brazzia? " 
 
 The Mother Superior looked surprised. She did 
 not answer at once. When she spoke, she said : 
 
 "From whom do you come? " 
 
 "I have no credentials," said Quentin, forcing a 
 smile, " but I am a friend of the Duchesse di Brazzia, 
 and it is important that I should see her for a few 
 moments."
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 357 
 
 "Do you come from the Archbishop? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Does he know that you are coming here to-day? " 
 
 " No, Madame. I thought of going to him, but I 
 was passing your gate, and felt impelled to come in 
 and ask for myself. You do not answer me. What 
 has happened? Can I not see her? " 
 
 " She whom you call the Duchesse di Brazzia is not 
 here, monsieur." 
 
 " Whom I call the Duchesse di Brazzia ! " Quentin 
 was breathless. " Whom I call the Duchess di Braz- 
 zia! What! What do you " 
 
 "We already called her Sceur Cecile among our- 
 selves," said the Mother Superior, smiling; "soon we 
 hope to have her feel that she has cast off the old 
 name and taken the new one forever." 
 
 " Then she has taken no vows as yet? " 
 
 "No, Monsieur." 
 
 " And may I see her? " 
 
 "She is not here, Monsieur; I have told you 
 already. 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes — pardon, Madame, not here? 
 Where then? " ' 
 
 " That I cannot tell you. It was her request that 
 we should give her address to no one. When a sorely 
 tried soul is thinking of entering the conventual life, 
 Monsieur, it does not wish to be disturbed with the 
 thoughts of the world and worldly things." 
 
 " But this is monstrous ! " said Quentin. " Mon- 
 strous ! That such a woman, born to ornament 
 society " 
 
 "Born for the service of the Lord, Monsieur," re- 
 turned the Mother Superior gravely. There was a 
 silence of some seconds, which finally she broke.
 
 358 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " And may I ask what claim you have on the Duchesse 
 di Brazzia? " 
 
 Quentin looked down and bit his lip. "None," he 
 said. 
 
 "You are not then, by chance, the Count St. Au- 
 bin?" 
 
 "I am not," said Quentin. 
 
 "Not her brother-in-law-, Monsieur Valery? " 
 
 "No," answered Quentin. 
 
 "Nor relative of any kind? " 
 
 "I am not," said he again. 
 
 The Mother Superior looked the young man over 
 from head to foot. If ever there was a human being 
 for whom a woman would willingly risk the perils of 
 the world, this was the man. Some such thought 
 may have passed through the Mother Superior's mind, 
 some dim and far-away echo of the love song of her 
 youth, but her face was set and stern, and her voice 
 showed no sympathy, if she felt any. 
 
 "And what has a young man, not a relative, to do 
 with a young and beautiful woman like the Duchesse 
 di Brazzia? " Almost the words which the Arch- 
 bishop had used. 
 
 " It is true," he said. " There is no answer. I am 
 less than nothing to her, but I cannot stand by and 
 see her immured within walls such as these, leaving 
 the world, where some time she may find happiness, 
 to take up a career against which she will chafe and 
 rebel, and find too late that it is not what she had 
 hoped." 
 
 " With all of which I have nothing to do, Monsieur. 
 I know that from my standpoint the holy life is the 
 only one, and " 
 
 "And you are, all of you, urging her to accept it;
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 359 
 
 to come and seclude herself among you ; to take oaths, 
 which, when taken, cannot be broken ; you are influ- 
 encing her " 
 
 "Naturally," returned the Mother Superior. 
 " Naturally. Not that she is a person, the Duchesse 
 di Brazzia, who is easily influenced," a shade of an- 
 noyance crossed the speaker's face. " She judges for 
 herself, and argues it out step by step. She will not 
 go one inch beyond her convictions. When you hear 
 that the Duchesse di Brazzia has taken the veil, you 
 may rest assured that nowhere else could she have 
 found happiness. Even should she remain in the 
 world, she will ever have a leaning toward the holy 
 life. She is high principled and faithful, she is " 
 
 "I know, I know, Madame," said Quentin. "You 
 can tell me nothing good about her of which I am not 
 assured already ; but you can tell me one thing that I 
 do not know, and that is where she is at this moment." 
 
 " And you would crave to know against her expressed 
 wish?" 
 
 "No, not if I believed it to be her expressed wish." 
 
 "You may rest assured that it is, Monsieur." 
 
 Quentin bowed and went away. He felt almost 
 certain that Alixe was still within the convent, and if 
 not, that she had been taken to some other to elude 
 him. It must be the Archbishop's doing. He would 
 go to him and demand to know where they had con- 
 cealed this splendid young creature, that they might 
 fill the coffers of their church with her fortune. The 
 injustice of this suspicion Quentin did not appreciate. 
 All men are prejudiced, and most men are unjust, be- 
 cause it is almost impossible to judge fairly from a 
 standpoint of prejudice. 
 
 Quentin was overwhelmed by a feeling of supreme
 
 360 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 pity for this charming, helpless being, whom he 
 was convinced was badgered, put upon, over-conscien- 
 tious, unsympathized with, except by the Archbishop, 
 whose kindness and personal and truly spiritual at- 
 tractions, he felt and feared, might prove a strong fac- 
 tor toward persuading Alixe to shelter herself within 
 the walls of the cloister.
 
 XLL 
 
 When Quentin was ushered out of the convent gate, 
 he walked blindly along, not knowing where to go. 
 Finally, he found himself in the Hue Vaugirard and 
 near the Luxembourg Gardens. He did not go up 
 the steps that lead to the gallery, but turned and 
 walked into the open gate, and went along the grav- 
 elled path to where he saw an empty bench beneath 
 the shade of a tree. The bench was near a little pond 
 upon which some ducks were disporting themselves, 
 and Quentin sat idly watching them as they stood on 
 their heads or swam about in the water, and then — his 
 gaze wandered across the pond. Away upon the other 
 side, he suddenly caught sight of the Archbishop. 
 Here would be a solution of the difficulty. The Arch- 
 bishop was walking very fast in the other direction ; 
 that is, exactly away from him. He must skirt the 
 entire pond before he could catch up with him. He 
 started to walk at a smart pace, and had nearly encir- 
 cled the water when he was stopped by a deep ditch, 
 and a printed notice that this passage was interdicted. 
 Quentin, nothing loath, ran and made a flying leap 
 across the heads of the workmen beneath. There was 
 a great outcry, and he found himself promptly stopped 
 by a gendarme. Experience had taught Quentin that 
 resistance in such a case only made matters worse. 
 
 Explanations were in order, some money was slipped 
 into the hand of the soldier with Quentin' s card; but
 
 362 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 the little disturbance had lasted long enough to pre- 
 vent the fulfilment of his desires, and when he was 
 again at liberty the Archbishop had disappeared. 1 
 Quentin ran toward the gate out of which he must have 
 passed, but his straining eyes saw no one that looked 
 like his old friend, and he sulkily hailed a passing 
 cab and ordered the cocher to drive to Madame 's 
 number. 
 
 It was a long drive, and Quentin was certain that 
 the man had skirted the Exposition buildings to make 
 the trip more lucrative. He had said, "A l'heure," 
 and the little horse jogged along at a snail pace, not- 
 withstanding the repeated loud cracks of the whip. 
 
 Quentin remembered what Valery had once said 
 about Paris cabmen : That all their horses were trick 
 horses; that the horses knew by a certain sort of 
 crack of the whip whether it was a false alarm, or 
 whether it was really meant as an incentive to haste. 
 The whip cracked incessantly, the horse kept up his 
 slow jog-trot pace, minding the apparent request to 
 be more speedy no more than a cavalry horse minds 
 the booming of artillery, and Quentin leaned back 
 and resigned himself to the inevitable. 
 
 Arrived at Madame's door, he mounted the stairs 
 in no time and rang im patiently. As before, Ma- 
 dame was at home ; and as before, he heard a great deal 
 of rustling about in the next room, for what woman, 
 even if she is to be married to another man, wishes 
 either a discarded or discarding lover to see her look- 
 ing anything but her best? Madame remained longer 
 before the glass than usual, and came in smiling, with 
 a rose bloom on her cheek which Quentin was certain 
 had been placed there, and not by the hand of God, 
 since he had rung the bell. There are a few things
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 363 
 
 that Omnipotence cannot accomplish. This is one 
 of them. 
 
 Madame had not seen Quentin since their encoun- 
 ter in this very room, and her manner was somewhat 
 shy and unassured ; but it is never too late to mend 
 such matters, and she placed herself in a chair now, 
 not on the sofa, that there might be no reminder from 
 locality of that painful scene of a day some weeks past. 
 
 "You are a stranger," said Madame, smiling, "but 
 always welcome." * 
 
 She did not put out her hand until Quentin stretched 
 out his own, and then, after a short handclasp, with- 
 drew it at once. Madame had discovered that there 
 are men into whose good graces women must retreat, 
 not advance. She had learned a great deal in theory 
 since last they met. 
 
 Quentin seated himself rather awkwardly. A man 
 never feels so uncomfortable as when he has snubbed, 
 or has had to snub, a woman who really cares for him, 
 and he was experiencing now the consequences of a 
 careless and too ardent friendship, which he had never 
 intended should be anything more. 
 
 " I have come to ask you that same question over 
 again," said Quentin abruptly. He was determined 
 that this time, at least, he should not be misunder- 
 stood. "Where is your daughter?" he blurted out 
 boldly. His tone, and the words "your daughter," 
 brought a deeper flush to Madame 's cheek than the 
 chamois skin had left there. 
 
 Madame drew herself up coldly. 
 
 "As I told you before, I do not know where she is 
 at this moment." 
 
 "Is she at a convent? Has she taken the veil? 
 Has she bound herself by vows "
 
 364 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Do not get excited, Mr. Quentin, over the Duchesse 
 di Brazzia. Whatever she does will be permitted by 
 her husband, the Count St. Aubin, and I cannot see 
 what you or any other man, or woman, can have to do 
 with it." 
 
 "That is very true," said Quentin. "I know that 
 I have nothing to do with it. God knows that I have 
 had very little to do either with it or her; but I am 
 asking a simple question, one for information. Even 
 after it is answered, I shall not know what to do any 
 more than I know now, any more than I have known 
 what to do since the first moment I saw her." 
 
 "You are very frank, Mr. Quentin," Madame's eye- 
 lids trembled, she pressed her lips together; "you 
 were my friend. You came to visit me." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " broke in Quentin. " And I shall thank 
 you ever and always from the very depths of my heart 
 for giving me a chance to " 
 
 " Heroics are quite out of place, Mr. Quentin, from 
 a young— from an unmarried man about a married 
 woman." Quentin felt as if he had received a cold 
 douche. " There is one thing that I can certainly tell 
 you, and that is, that, no matter how you pursue 
 Alixe, no matter how much you try to change her de- 
 termination, nothing in the world can alter it when 
 once her mind is made up. I do not say that it is 
 made up ; she has always judged for herself " 
 
 " Did she judge for herself when you married her 
 to that little mountebank " 
 
 "You are speaking of my nephew, Mr. Quentin," 
 said Madame dryly. "You were a visitor in his 
 house, and no matter how much you may feel your 
 superior height and good looks, it is most ungenerous 
 of you."
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 365 
 
 "I made no comparisons. I thought of none. It 
 is patent to every one that it was a monstrous mar- 
 riage. She was so young ! Hardly more than eigh- 
 teen." 
 
 "I was married at seventeen," said Madame. 
 
 "What did she know of marriage? " pursued Quen- 
 tin. "And with such a gnome as that! Why, it is 
 Beauty and the Beast over again. If she loved him, 
 could possibly love him " 
 
 " And has she confided to you that she does not 
 love her husband, Mr. Quentin? " 
 
 "No! No!" shouted Quentin; "God forbid! We 
 have never had any conversation except on the most 
 commonplace matters. I hardly know her, even 
 through conventional mediums. But I do know that 
 she suffers ; I have seen it in her eyes, heard it in the 
 tones of her voice ; I learn it now, because she, who 
 should be madly in love with life, with all that she 
 has to live for, talks of taking the veil, of immuring 
 herself within the walls of St. " 
 
 " She cannot do so unless her husband gives his 
 consent." 
 
 "And will he?" 
 
 " Bruno is a little exigeant about the amount that 
 Alixe shall give him before he will agree," said Ma- 
 dame. 
 
 "Bless him for that," said Quentin, "no matter 
 what his motives are." 
 
 " Alixe does not wish to go to the sisterhood empty- 
 handed, and that is why " 
 
 " Poor soul ! driven out of the world, out of the sun- 
 shine! Driven away from the love and happiness 
 that she might possess, to find " 
 
 " To find peace, Mr. Quentin, so his dear Grace
 
 366 THE AECHBISHOP AM) THE LADY 
 
 says, to find peace, and I, a good Catholic, cannot con- 
 tradict him. I may confess to you that I am not over 
 pleased at this desire of Alixe's, because I lose more 
 than any one. I lose a country home where I can run 
 down for a week when I am tired of Paris. I lose a 
 relative whose title is the Duchesse di Brazzia, and 
 Alixe, with all her failings, is rather generous in the 
 way of presents. Here is what she sent me the other 
 day." Madame stretched out a plump arm and 
 showed Quentin a bracelet containing a jewel-mounted 
 watch. " She said she should need nothing now but a 
 simple timepiece to remind her when the hour arrives 
 for her devotions ; in fact, the convent bell should do 
 for that. You see what I lose, Mr. Quentin. Much 
 more than you, who hardly know her." 
 
 "You lose a daughter," returned Quentin, "who 
 has been all kindness and gentleness, no matter what 
 your attitude toward her has been. I unfortunately 
 overheard " 
 
 "What! What did you hear?" asked Madame, 
 paling under her color. 
 
 Quentin did not answer. He arose. " That is all 
 beside the question," he said. "Then, as you will 
 tell me nothing, I will leave you. I had hoped that 
 you would be willing to relieve my tortured mind 
 somewhat. I wish you every happiness, Madame; 
 but I hope never to see you again until you can tell 
 me that that unhappy soul has come to her senses 
 through some kind and urging word from you." 
 
 " I told you, Mr. Quentin, if you remember," said 
 Madame, with heightened color, " that I am not anx- 
 ious to have her take up the conventual life. But you 
 should talk with the Archbishop; he is much more 
 influential with her than I am."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 367 
 
 "I will go to the Archbishop," said Quentin. 
 
 "And remember," said Madame, " that whatever he 
 tells you, and whatever you hear of her whereabouts, 
 she herself has expressed the desire that no one will 
 interfere with her now ; and do as she wishes, I beg 
 of you." 
 
 Across Madame's mind's eye had flashed the pic- 
 ture of Quentin' s going down to the Abbey, and the 
 meeting, which, under the guise of friendship, would 
 cover a stronger feeling. As is quite natural, she 
 judged others by what she herself would have done, 
 and she could not bear the thought that her recently 
 lost friend should so suddenly fill her place, more 
 than fill it, with another, and that other her daughter, 
 Alixe. 
 
 As for Quentin, he would have said that Madame 
 had never filled the niche where Alixe was enshrined; 
 in fact, that she had been but a dear friend, a devoted 
 friend, with an embarrassing amount of attention 
 toward himself, a much younger person, and nothing 
 more. Quentin did not trust himself to speak again. 
 He bowed himself hurriedly out, with the fixed idea 
 that the Archbishop was now the only one to solve 
 the difficulty for him. As he came into the outer 
 hall, and started toward the general stair, never too 
 light in Paris houses, he heard a sound, a sort of hiss- 
 ing sound it was, which fell suddenly upon his ear. 
 
 He raised his eyes to see a little figure standing at 
 the extreme end of the corridor. The arm of this lit- 
 tle person was outstretched, and was beckoning des- 
 perately with claw-like finger. 
 
 He approached nearer and found that it was Made- 
 moiselle, who stood under the hanging, unlighted 
 lamp.
 
 368 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Have you heard the news? " she asked. 
 
 "No, what news? " asked Quentin. 
 
 "The news of Gartha." 
 
 "No." Quentin was mildly interested. News of 
 Alixe was what he wished. "Is the child here? Is 
 she well? " 
 
 " Then you have not heard ! She has been nearly 
 killed. It was with the explosives at the Abbey." 
 Mademoiselle was voluble in her own tongue. 
 
 " Poor little Gartha ! " said Quentin in a softened 
 voice. "Who was with her? " 
 
 "Her father was there, and I was there. They 
 telegraphed for her aunt " 
 
 "Her aunt " 
 
 " The Duchesse di Brazzia. Hush ! Come down to 
 the premier etage. She watches like a cat. She will 
 think I am telling you. I saw you come in. I was 
 in the street on a small errand. I waited until your 
 long talk with Madame was over. Come down here ! 
 There ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle had gone hurriedly down the flight 
 of stairs; and not any too soon, for the door of 
 Madame 's apartment opened, and some one came out 
 upon the landing, stood there for one moment, and 
 then went back, and the door was closed. 
 
 " She said I was not to tell you if you came, but I 
 see no harm in it. Why should one tell a falsehood 
 if there is nothing to gain by it? If there were any 
 good reason, why then " 
 
 "Is Gartha much hurt? " asked Quentin anxiously. 
 
 "She was badly burned." Mademoiselle's mous- 
 tache quivered with emotion for the child, whom she 
 really loved, and who in return liked her so little. 
 " But the English doctor is bringing her through. "
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 369 
 
 * And the Duchesse is there? " There was a note of 
 joy in Quentin's voice that Mademoiselle could not 
 fail to remark. 
 
 "You will not tell that I told? " 
 
 "No, certainly not," said Quentin. "Do you sup- 
 pose that I wish to get you into trouble with " 
 
 He motioned with his head upward. 
 
 "And you will not go there? " 
 
 "No, not unless I am asked to go." 
 
 "You will not be asked to go," said Mademoiselle. 
 " Yesterday she talked of you — Gartha, I mean, and 
 her father said that he should bring you back with 
 him from Paris ; but her aunt, the Duchess, said de- 
 cidedly, no, there was no need of it, and that she 
 could receive no one now." 
 
 Quentin's look of mortification did not pass un- 
 noticed by Mademoiselle. "It is right," she said. 
 " No lady of the Duchess's position can receive a gen- 
 tleman at her house, and a young man like yourself — 
 Monsieur Valery has strange ideas — but " 
 
 "We may trust to the Duchess to keep him 
 straight," said Quentin, with a bitter little laugh. 
 
 "Certainement," answered Mademoiselle in a per- 
 plexed tone. " Gartha is getting on well. Mr. Valery 
 is to come up to town in a day or two." 
 
 "I shall do nothing more, now," said Quentin. "I 
 have made myself obnoxious enough, I fear; but I 
 shall go to see the Archbishop. Where will Mr. Val- 
 ery be when he comes to-morrow? " 
 
 Mademoiselle gave him the name of Valery's hotel, 
 and then, as she heard a footstep above, she turned 
 away and waddled puffily up the stairs. As Quentin 
 left the house he walked close along the wall. He 
 did not cross the street, for he felt certain that Madame 
 24
 
 370 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 was lying in wait to see him come out, and the poor 
 little Weasel, to prevent Madame from discovering that 
 they had met and talked together, would be obliged 
 to stretch her mendacity to the utmost limit. There 
 are wonderful possibilities in an apartment house, as 
 Quentin had just found to his satisfaction, and Made- 
 moiselle was discovering how much more could be ac- 
 complished here sub rosa than at the Abbey. When 
 Mademoiselle entered the apartment, she found Ma- 
 dame standing at the window drumming with her 
 fingers on the pane. The day was chilly, and the 
 long windows were closed. Her face was pressed 
 close to the glass, and she was straining her eyes first 
 to the right and then to the left. Evidently her es- 
 pionage had met with no reward. 
 
 " Oh ! it is you. Did you meet Mr. Quentin? " 
 said Madame. 
 
 "Monsieur Quentin!" Mademoiselle's tone ex- 
 pressed all that there was of astonished surprise. 
 "Has he been here? " 
 
 "Don't tell me that you have not seen him, Made- 
 moiselle, for he left me not more than fifteen minutes 
 ago ! " 
 
 " I shall not tell you that I have not seen Monsieur 
 Quentin, Madame " 
 
 " There, " said Madame triumphantly. " What did 
 I suspect ! " 
 
 "And why suspect, Madame? I did see Monsieur 
 Quentin, it is true ; but that is not saying that I have 
 spoken with him. Monsieur came out of the door as 
 I was hurrying back from the Rue de la Tremoille. 
 He went in the direction of the Champs Elysees ; he 
 seemed to be in too much haste to stop and speak to 
 me; but then, Madame — " with a shrug of the shoul-
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 371 
 
 ders — "I am only a poor gouvernante, a companion, 
 and old. The Messieurs are for the young and the 
 beautiful, not for the elder ladies like to you and 
 to me." 
 
 " It is not necessary for you to make comparisons, 
 Mademoiselle," said Madame sharply. "My age is 
 not to be mentioned with yours." 
 
 " Monsieur has so handsome a back ; so young a 
 back," said Mademoiselle. "I saw it, his back. I 
 thought that perhaps he had heard of Gartha's acci- 
 dent, and had come to ask about her." 
 
 " Indeed, then, he has not heard anything at all of 
 Mademoiselle Gartha's accident, Mademoiselle, and 
 I forbid you, if you should meet him, and speak with 
 him, to mention it." 
 
 Mademoiselle smiled internally. Almost all of her 
 smiles were internal, and while she lived with Ma- 
 dame they were also eternal. 
 
 "What are you smiling at?" 
 
 "I, Madame? — I smiling?" 
 
 "You will remember what I have just said." 
 
 "I shall remember, Madame." 
 
 " I believe that she has seen and talked with him. 
 I wonder how much she has told him," mused 
 Madame. " Oh, dear ! If every one wouldn't always 
 try to put their ringer into every one else's pie."
 
 XLn. 
 
 Quentin thought a good deal of Gartha, his little 
 friend at the Abbey, as he walked back to his hotel. 
 More, perhaps, because of her companion. Had she 
 been alone his thoughts must necessarily have been 
 divided. His joy was great to know that Alixe was not 
 yet the perpetual inmate of a convent, placed there by 
 her own will. Much as he regretted Gartha's accident, 
 he could but welcome any occurrence which would 
 keep Alixe in the world for a little longer time. He 
 did not go to see the Archbishop after all. He had 
 felt snubbed and humiliated by the Mother Superior, 
 and he saw now that he had perhaps worn his heart 
 upon his sleeve for these good people to peck at. 
 He had learned all that there was to know from 
 Mademoiselle, and Alixe was, at least for the time, in 
 the home that she loved. He would cease to worry 
 about her, and let things take their course for the 
 present. 
 
 He felt tired. He had been living on his nerves. 
 He was neither eating nor sleeping well, and sud- 
 denly he decided to go for a clay or so to the forest of 
 Fontainebleau and see what that would do for him. 
 
 He went to his hotel, sent his wheel to the Gare de 
 Lyons, and two hours more saw him on his way to 
 that paradise of the art student, male or female. He 
 scoured the paths and roads of the forest; he caught 
 picturesque glimpses of men and maids from Barbizon
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 373 
 
 and other villages, sitting underneath the trees, palette 
 in hand, or hand in hand, as the case might be. The 
 sight of such incessant and open love-making palled 
 upon him, and after two days of hard riding he re- 
 turned to town with a fair appetite and two nights of 
 sleep to the good. 
 
 Quentin arrived in Paris in the morning, and, driv- 
 ing as far as the Pont de la Concorde, he paid his 
 fare, dismissed his cocher, and started on a brisk 
 walk across the open space toward the Automobile 
 Club. As his heels rang smartly out on the asphalted 
 pavement he was all at once confronted with a figure 
 which he well knew. This figure was approaching 
 him from the direction in which he was going, and a 
 moment after Quentin discovered him, they met face 
 to face. 
 
 " Hola ! " said Valery, for it was he. 
 
 "Holloa, Valery," said Quentin, "I am truly glad 
 to see you." 
 
 This autumnal butterfly was resplendent with the 
 newest creations of the tailor's art, the latest ideas in 
 color that his brain could evolve. So gorgeous was 
 he that heads were thrust out of carriage windows, 
 and riders on automobiles and wheels turned to look 
 once and again. 
 
 " Take that ! " said Valery, as he doubled his fist 
 and gave Quentin a welcoming punch in the region of 
 the diaphragm. "Where are you bound? " 
 
 " What good luck I am in, " said Quentin heartily. 
 "Mine must be changing. How is Gartha? Better? 
 AndtheDuch ?" 
 
 "Now, which of all these questions do you want 
 answered? " said Valery, with his broad, good-natured 
 grin-
 
 374 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Quentin knew, but lie could wait. " Tell me how 
 the little girl is." 
 
 "Eight as a trivet," said Valery, "or I should not 
 have come. Why, it was only yesterday that she 
 called Alixe and me to her bedside, and said that she 
 was near death, and thought that she ought to be 
 married to you before mortification set in." 
 
 Quentin laughed heartily, the first good laugh that 
 he had enjoyed for weeks. They walked across the 
 square, and Yalery gave him the details of what Gar- 
 tha had considered her last wishes. 
 
 Suddenly he broke off. 
 
 "I wonder what's the matter with you, Quentin. 
 See how people are staring. Turn around. Have 
 you anything queer about your back or anything? I 
 never saw so much interest in a man in Paris in my 
 life." 
 
 Quentin gave a comprehensive glance at his friend, 
 and walked onward without explanation. What he 
 saw was a pale gray alpine hat surrounded with a 
 band of white, suffering from an eruption of red 
 spots as large as a franc. The turned-over collar was 
 striped green and pink, and round its wearer's neck 
 was a tie of yellow, whose flowing ends were knotted 
 in front and spread gayly to the breeze. The coat 
 was of a pale cinnamon shade; the waistcoat of a 
 pale blue, ornamented with large gold buttons, an 
 open crimson rose glowing from the button-hole. 
 Shoes of russet leather which struggled vainly for 
 notice against the enveloping light gray gaiters, and 
 long, full, white trousers, completed the costume of 
 the Eastaquouere. " Quite enough, " Quentin thought, 
 " to cause the general and comprehensive stare of the 
 Paris crowds."
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 375 
 
 "Come over to Maxim's," said Valery, as they 
 walked along. " We can be quiet there. " 
 
 " Quiet at Maxim's, on the street, among the star- 
 ing crowds ! " Quentin smiled broadly. 
 
 "So Eldon's really going to take up the white 
 man's burden!" said Valery. "Gad! I'm glad it's 
 him instead of me. He'll find my respected mother- 
 in-law a trifle heavy at times. "Worse than a Boer or 
 a Kaffir when it comes to shielding her from the cauld 
 blast on yonder lea, on yonder lea. His plaidie has 
 got to be made of Brussels lace, clasped with dia- 
 monds, if he wants to keep Mamasha really warm and 
 comfortable. Poor old Eldon ! " Valery shook his 
 head pityingly. " He deserves a better fate. Little 
 cat!" 
 
 Quentin sighed as he remembered pleasures which 
 he had resigned with so much ease. It had been a 
 pleasant friendship, and after all it is agreeable to 
 have a pretty woman and a young-looking woman 
 
 " There's a gospel chap in the Quarter that I wish 
 they'd employ. He's a parson for revenue only. 
 Eldon's sure to give a good fee." 
 
 'You seem to be philanthropically inclined," said 
 Quentin, waking up. " What is your interest in him, 
 the gospel chap, as you call him? " 
 
 "None," said Valery, puffing away at his Havana; 
 " the interest is in myself, my best friend. He has 
 owed me shekels, lo ! these many moons. If Eldon 
 would agree to hire him, I might get out an injunc- 
 tion on Eldon to have the money paid over to me ; it's 
 the only way I'll ever get a ha'penny of it. But — " 
 stopping on the pavement and facing Quentin — " where 
 have you been all this time, old man? In hiding from 
 Mamasha?"
 
 376 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "I am just back from the country. And you? " 
 
 " I only came up from the Abbey this morning. I 
 dismissed my cocher at the club and went out to find 
 you. I have a message for you — " Quentin's heart 
 beat faster — "from Gartha — " and ran slow again. 
 " What a noise these rascals are making. "What do 
 they say? " 
 
 This question was evoked by the shouts of the 
 newsboys. They were calling shrilly : " In the 
 night!" "In the night!" 
 
 Quentin beckoned to one, who ran up and waited 
 while he felt in his pocket for some silver. Valery 
 seized the paper. 
 
 "Que faites-vous? Vous!" said Valery, in tones 
 of thunder to the sharp-eyed little gamin. " What's 
 all this noise about? " He looked at the headings as 
 Quentin paid the lad. "W T hat? What's this? 
 Quentin ! Quentin ! Do you see ! Oh, good God ! 
 Quentin, look here! The Archbishop! The Arch- 
 bishop!" 
 
 " What? " said Quentin. " What is it? " And then 
 he recalled the incessant clamor of the newsboys, 
 which had pursued him all the way from the station. 
 The news of the day had been of little interest to him ; 
 he had paid no attention to it. 
 
 " Come into the club, " said Valery. " I cannot read 
 it here." 
 
 Together the two entered the club, and going up the 
 stairs and out upon the balcony, they scanned the 
 headlines for the details of the dreadful intelligence, 
 fearing the worst, hoping for the best. 
 
 As Valery read aloud, there came to Quentin's 
 mind in a flash the sombre picture of the priest, Halle, 
 lurking behind the angle of the convent wall, waiting
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 377 
 
 for the Archbishop to appear. Valery threw down 
 Le Matin. " Come over to my rooms," he said, "and 
 let us talk it over. We can't do anything, I sup- 
 pose? " 
 
 They came out into a dark autumn day, chilly 
 for the season, and went to Valery 's rooms in a near- 
 by hotel. 
 
 "Send up some wood," said Valery, as he passed 
 the office, " and plenty of it. " 
 
 Quentin followed him to the lift, and they soon 
 were in Valery 's rooms. They had not been long 
 seated when some servants appeared, bringing baskets 
 of wood, rolls of kindlings, etc. 
 
 "Come in!" said Valery, "come in! How many 
 more are there of you? Please give my compliments 
 to the gerant, and tell him that I have no intention 
 of building a house. There! that will do, I haven't 
 any woodshed up here. Take back two or three cart- 
 loads, and tell the gerant that he can send up the 
 rest of the building material to-morrow." 
 
 "That's the first time that I ever saw what, in 
 America, we call plenty of wood, in a Paris hotel, " said 
 Quentin. 
 
 Shocked at the dreadful news that he had heard, 
 he could but laugh at Valery 's dry humor, which, it 
 is needless to say, was quite wasted on the French 
 servants. 
 
 "I've trained 'em," laughed Valery. 
 
 "If you don't mind, I will build the fire," said 
 Quentin. " I don't believe any one in the world knows 
 more about fires than an American savage. We are 
 brought up to it. " Soon the logs were blazing hotly, 
 and the two men, who were fast growing friends, 
 sat and smoked, and talked and wondered. Finally
 
 378 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Quentin took the cigar from between his lips and 
 looked at Valery, searchingly. 
 
 " Have you any suspicion who could have commit- 
 ted such an awful deed? " 
 
 Valery shook his head as he gazed into the fire. 
 "No," said he, "not the slightest. How should I 
 have?" 
 
 "I wonder," said Quentin, after a short silence, 
 "whether I ought to tell you what I know? " 
 
 "Certainly you should, if you know anything. 
 But how could you? What had you to do with the 
 Archbishop more than to meet him for a few hours at 
 the Abbey?" 
 
 " Your question is a sensible one, but I have seen 
 something, and taken in conjunction with what I 
 know, it seems as if I may be on the right track." 
 
 "Let's have it," said Yalery, turning lazily in his 
 chair and looking at Quentin through partly closed 
 eyes. 
 
 Quentin began his narration. As he proceeded, 
 and finally mentioned the Alsatian's name, Valery 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " he said. " You're way off, quite on 
 the wrong track, quite ! Halle hadn't enough cause 
 for such a deed, and if he had the cause, he had not 
 the courage. I never thought Bob a saint, even when 
 he took holy orders, for I knew too much about him; 
 but I can't imagine him, loose-principled as he was, 
 enough of a blackguard to commit a crime. You will 
 have to think up some other solution, Quentin. I'm 
 afraid you let your personal prejudices affect your 
 judgment. You don't like Halle." 
 
 "No," answered Quentin, "I confess to not liking 
 the man overmuch. He was rude, and, later, insult-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 379 
 
 ing to me at the Abbey, where I was a guest at the 
 same time with himself; but, of course, that does not 
 make him a criminal." 
 
 " I don't know," said Valery. " I think rudeness a 
 crime, don't you? " 
 
 "I wonder where Halle is to-day? " said Quentin. 
 
 " Off with Bruno somewhere, looking up some me- 
 chanic who will make the parts of their precious 
 automobile. The truth is, they think they have such 
 a wonderful invention, that they are afraid to trust 
 one person with more than one part, and so they get 
 men all over the country to make it. Why, those men 
 never know that Bruno is the Count St. Aubin. He 
 talks to them as if he were a paid underling, procur- 
 ing from them the skilled labor that he wishes for the 
 Count. I have heard them ask to see the Count, and 
 have heard St. Aubin say, ' He is not at home at 
 present, ' or ' He cannot be disturbed. ' They have 
 never, one of them, so much as laid eyes on him to 
 their knowledge. He employs Halle to do the busi- 
 ness part of it." 
 
 "That I know very well," remarked Quentin, and 
 then he told Valery about his encounter with the 
 priest in the glade, and Halle's language, which Gar- 
 tha's presence did not seem to check. 
 
 "Oh, I know Halle," said Valery; "you can't tell 
 me anything about Halle. He went into the church 
 for a living. I have never had any respect for him. 
 Now, Alixe thinks him a badly abused man, and 
 much as she likes the Archbishop, she thinks, and 
 always has thought, him prejudiced against Halle. I 
 wonder if we must speak of the poor old fellow in the 
 past tense. Is he dead, I wonder? Did you see?" 
 
 " At first he was thought dead ; but I find here a
 
 380 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 later bulletin which says he is still living. It was late 
 last night, when he was coming from a visit to the 
 Cardinal." 
 
 "Poor old man, it will break Alixe's heart, and 
 Gartha's, poor little minx ! She said she would have 
 married His Grace were it not against the rules 
 of the church, and you may come in only second 
 best. There is a certain John MacDonald at Bally- 
 rogan " 
 
 "My young nephew, I suppose," said Quentin. 
 " I took him over there when I came out, to see his 
 father's relatives. So Gartha has met Jan, has 
 she?" 
 
 Yalery laughed. " How funny that is ! We never 
 mentioned you, and the boy did not. To think that 
 he should be your nephew ! " 
 
 "The son of my only sister," said Quentin. "She 
 married a Scotchman named MacDonald, and he died 
 shortly after she did, leaving the lad to me." 
 
 "We must have him over here." 
 
 "Perhaps, later," acquiesced Quentin. 
 
 "I've just thought of something, Quentin," said 
 Yalery. "Mamasha wanted me to get Alixe's jewels 
 from the banker. She wants to wear them at the 
 wedding. I forgot all about it and wrote to Alixe 
 only the other day. She gave me an order this 
 morning. Will you go with me? " 
 
 "Yes," said Quentin, "I have nothing to do." 
 
 The two men went down the stairs and over to the 
 banker's. Quentin followed Valery to the person in 
 charge of the jewels, and witnessed his look of aston- 
 ishment when Valery produced the order signed by 
 the Duchesse di Brazzia. 
 
 "But the jewels are not here," said the clerk.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 381 
 
 " The Duchess sent for them only about three days 
 ago." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " insisted Valery, " for here is the order." 
 
 " But I had another order very similar to that, " re- 
 plied the clerk. " It did not look as fresh as this, but 
 it was an order all the same, and signed by the 
 Duchess." 
 
 " Who presented it? " demanded Valery, who was 
 now thoroughly frightened. 
 
 "Madame Petrofsky." 
 
 "Did she say she wished the jewels? " 
 
 "No, she only said that her niece, the Duchess, 
 wanted them, and as she brought me the signed 
 order " 
 
 " Was the body of the order in her hand — the Duch- 
 ess's, I mean? " 
 
 " No, that was written by Madame Petrofsky. I 
 know her handwriting very well." The clerk smiled 
 faintly as he remembered various requests for loans 
 which were always in the end repaid by the Duchesse 
 di Brazzia. 
 
 "That is very strange," said Valery. "And you 
 say that Madame Petrofsky presented the order her- 
 self? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Valery, I am quite sure of it. I waited 
 on Madame Petrofsky. The jewels are too valuable 
 to trust to an ordinary clerk." 
 
 " I must see about this, " said Valery as he walked 
 out with Quentin. "That fellow may have made a 
 mistake. Mamasha may not have been here at all, 
 and if so, Madame la Duchesse Alixe is out of a tidy 
 little sum. You'll excuse my going off, Quentin. 
 I'll just run up and see Mamasha, and make sure 
 about this business."
 
 XTJTT. 
 
 It was not until after the two had parted that Quen- 
 tin realized that he had learned nothing more of 
 Alixe than he had known before he met Valery. 
 
 When Valery arrived at Madame's apartment, he 
 was told by Jeanne, her maid of all work, that she was 
 not at home, but Mademoiselle entertained him for 
 the few moments that he was obliged to wait. Valery 
 was just about to take his departure, when he heard a 
 hurried ring at the bell, and a second one before 
 Jeanne could go to the door, and Madame came rush- 
 ing in from the little entrance hall in the greatest 
 haste. She breathed as if she had run all the way up 
 the two flights from the street. 
 
 " Mademoiselle ! Mademoiselle ! Where is the key 
 of my desk? Have you seen it? " Her face was 
 flushed, her tone was agitated. She did not perceive 
 Valery, in the dark little salon, but ran to the desk in 
 the corner. 
 
 " Oh ! here it is in the lock. How careless of me ! 
 Thank heaven ! " She snapped the lid to, turned the 
 key in the lock, and dropped i u in her pocket, then 
 sank into a low chair, quite out of breath. 
 
 " Has any one been in the room, Mademoiselle? " 
 
 "Yes, I've been here, Mamasha," said Valery, from 
 his dark corner, "and here I am still. Gracious! 
 How you jump, Mamasha. This talk of getting mar-
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 383 
 
 ried must have got on to your nerves; but why it 
 should, having become a fixed habit as it were " 
 
 " Valery ! How you frighten me ! I had no idea 
 that you were here ! When did you get here? What 
 business have you to come into people's rooms and 
 sit in a dark corner? It's almost like spying upon 
 them, Valery. How can you make me so nervous?" 
 
 "I didn't want to make you nervous, dear old 
 Mamasha. I just dropped in to speak to you about 
 a little matter of which you wrote me some time 
 ago." 
 
 " But you have already sent Mademoiselle, will 
 
 you kindly withdraw? " Mademoiselle glided from 
 the room leaving the door open the width of a crack. 
 " Fermez, fermez ! " called Madame. 
 
 Mademoiselle gave the door a decided little bang, 
 so promptly that it told at once of her still being in 
 the vicinity, and then the door flew open again. 
 
 Madame crossed the room and closed it gently, but 
 firmly. It was the way in which Madame did a great 
 many things. That is, when she was not nervous. 
 
 "You sent me the second draft, Valery. Oh, you 
 dear! I haven't cashed it yet. You don't mean to 
 say that you intend sending me another one? " 
 
 " Well — ha — hem — Such had not been my inten- 
 tion, Mamasha, but, since you remind me of it " 
 
 " Oh, you dear ! " repeated Madame, sinking con- 
 tentedly back into her seat. Yalery 's gaze was fixed 
 upon the desk which Madame had just locked in ner- 
 vous haste. "What's in that escritoire? " he asked 
 bluntly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing of any importance. Only private 
 matters of my own." 
 
 "Love letters from Eldon, I suppose." Madame,
 
 384 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 who had looked down in embarrassment, looked up 
 and smiled at this very pleasant solution of the diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 "I dropped in to see you about another little mat- 
 ter, Mamasha. You remember you wrote me some 
 time ago that you wanted to borrow Alixe 's jewels for 
 the wedding, and I thought " 
 
 " Valery," said Madame hurriedly, "I have decided 
 not to ask for them now. I do not need them. Lord 
 Eldon has given me some very handsome things, and 
 I find those will be enough." 
 
 " And you don't want me to get them for you, Ma- 
 masha? " said Yalery, very distinctly. 
 
 " No, no ! I beg of you, Yalery, dear, do not go. 
 I have been thinking that it was rather presuming to 
 ask them of Alixe, and I hope that you will say noth- 
 ing more about the matter." 
 
 " But I have an order from Alixe that I brought up 
 with me to-day from the Abbey." 
 
 Madame gave a sudden short gasp. Yalery knew 
 what sort of feeling she was experiencing, but she did 
 not know that he understood the meaning of the gasp. 
 It was as if she had said, " Then I need not have done 
 it after all ! " 
 
 " Well, Yalery, dear, please do nothing about it. 
 If Alixe is going into the sisterhood, it would be well 
 to get them out beforehand ; but at present we had 
 better wait and see what happens." 
 
 "And you have asked nothing about Gartha, 
 Mamasha ! " 
 
 "You have not given me time, Yalery," exclaimed 
 Madame, "with all jour queer statements, and both- 
 ers, and suggestions. How is the dear child? " 
 
 "She has been very ill. Yesterday "
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 385 
 
 "Do you think it will prevent the wedding? " asked 
 Madame anxiously. 
 
 "Well, I hardly know," answered Yalery ; "yester- 
 day she wanted me to call the servants round her to 
 bid them farewell." 
 
 " Poor child ! Poor child ! " said Madame, who had 
 fits of caring for Gartha. " And if she is ill, why are 
 you here? " 
 
 Valery told Madame of the scene in Gartha' s room, 
 holding for the moment his other business in abey- 
 ance. At this amusing tale Madame recovered her 
 spirits, and laughed again, the nervous look passing 
 from her face. 
 
 "And you have heard of the Archbishop? " 
 
 "Yes," said Madame, "that is what took me out 
 this morning. I was going over there to inquire 
 when suddenly I missed my key." 
 
 "As you will miss it again," said Valery, picking 
 up the key from the floor. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Valery ! How hard it is to keep 
 one's keys." She held out her hand. " Thank you, 
 Valery." She still held out her hand. " Come, give 
 me my key." 
 
 "Why are you so anxious for this key, Mamasha? " 
 
 " Why— why— it— it— is my key, is it not? Why 
 should I not have it? " 
 
 "Because you aren't the proper person to have it. 
 I intend to keep this key, and I intend to use it, and 
 I intend " ' 
 
 ■ To— to— do what, Valery? Oh, Valery ! what do 
 you mean to do? " 
 
 Madame was deathly white, all but the small red 
 spots on either cheek, which no amount of fear could 
 wash away. " Are you going to open my desk? " 
 25
 
 386 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "With your usual, unerring accuracy, Mamasha, 
 dear, you have called the turn." 
 
 " Why should you open my desk? " 
 
 " Simply because I want to see what you guard so 
 carefully inside." 
 
 "You are impertinent, Valery— as I told you, only 
 a few private " 
 
 " Oh, don't be afraid. I have no wish to read El- 
 don's vaporings to my mother-in-law. I merely 
 wish " 
 
 " To do what? " 
 
 "To open the desk." 
 
 " You said that before, and for what, Valery ? Why 
 do you wish to open it? " 
 
 "It is a whim of mine." 
 
 "You shall not open my desk." 
 
 "I am very sorry, dear old Mamasha, but I am 
 afraid I shall have to. I am stronger than you." 
 
 "You great, African brute!" said Madame. 
 " Would you open my desk by force? " 
 
 "Don't call names, dear Mamasha. Yes, I would 
 open your desk by force, and here goes." Valery 
 arose and took a step toward the desk. 
 
 " Valery ! Valery ! Do not do such a thing. Let 
 me open my own desk; give me the key." 
 
 "Very well, Mamasha. Some one has to do it; 
 why not you? " 
 
 Madame took the key from Valery, and approached 
 the desk, slowly, looking at her son-in-law over her 
 shoulder, with a sidelong glance. 
 
 " Do you really mean it. Must I unlock my desk 
 for you? " 
 
 "Yes, Mamasha, dear, as I told you, I am stronger 
 than you — and a great deal more honest— — "
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 387 
 
 "But not as quick-witted," exclaimed Madame, as 
 she suddenly sprang to the side of the room, stooped, 
 and pushed the key down into the opening of the 
 American register near which she stood. There was 
 dead silence, broken only by the key as it went jan- 
 gling on its journey to the regions below. 
 
 Valery bit his lip. 
 
 " Now, what are you going to do? " Madame's tone 
 was more than triumphant. 
 
 ' You little cat ! " said Valery. " Even if you are my 
 mother-in-law, I cannot be as respectful as your age 
 demands. You little cat ! " 
 
 She sank back on the sofa. His breath came fast, 
 he glared at Madame. 
 
 "I — I — am a very young mother-in-law, Valery," 
 said Madame, half crying. 
 
 " Yes, but a little cat all the same. You are only 
 putting off the evil day, Mamasha, dear, for that desk 
 must be opened." 
 
 "And why? It is my personal property." Ma- 
 dame seemed to gain courage from her own attempt to 
 appear courageous. "Valery, if you do not get up 
 from that seat at once, and go out of that door, I will 
 send for the police to put you out." 
 
 " Oh, Mamasha, Mamasha ! That would indeed be 
 a scandal! That would be a scene! — to put your 
 own son-in-law out of the house ; but nothing to the 
 scandal that would happen later." 
 
 "What do you mean? " asked Madame, trembling, 
 and breathing very fast. 
 
 :< You had better have the lock picked, Mamasha, 
 and let me look into the desk. That will save your 
 reputation." 
 
 " No, Valery, I will not have the lock picked, nor
 
 388 THE AECHBISHOP AXD THE LADY 
 
 will I let you examine my escritoire." She went to 
 the bell and rang it. " We shall see whose wits are 
 the better, yours or mine. " To the maid who ap- 
 peared: "Jeanne, telephone for a sergent de ville." 
 
 "But, Madame " 
 
 " Do as I tell you, telephone for a sergent de ville. " 
 
 " You had better not, Jeanne, my good girl, if you 
 know what is good for you," said Yalery. 
 
 " Jeanne, will you do as I tell you and telephone 
 for a sergent de ville? " 
 
 There was the sound of the outer door of the apart- 
 ment shutting loudly. "Who is that?" called Ma- 
 dame. "Go at once, Jeanne." 
 
 " Oh, Madame, " Jeanne was bathed in tears, " Mon- 
 sieur Yalery has been so good to me " 
 
 "There, Mamasha," said Yalery triumphantly. 
 "You see what louis and laughter are, as against 
 francs and frowns." 
 
 " I would scorn to buy affection, " said Madame. 
 
 "I know you would, Mamasha," said Valery, "it 
 might deplete your bank account." He turned to the 
 maid. "Jeanne, go for a locksmith." 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur," said Jeanne. 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind, Jeanne. " 
 
 "I go for my bonnet, Monsieur Yalery," said 
 Jeanne, to whom Madame had already given warning. 
 Yalery ran to the door, and called after Jeanne down 
 the corridor. "I have changed my mind, Jeanne. 
 Go for a policeman, and bring two if you can find 
 them." Jeanne flew along the hall, Madame close 
 behind her. Since Monsieur Yalery wished the ser- 
 gents de ville, Jeanne, expecting to have her little 
 bonnet snatched from her hand, turned defiantly to- 
 ward Madame as she took- it down from the peg; but
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 389 
 
 Madame was not worrying her mind about bonnets. 
 She dexterously slipped the key from the look, in- 
 serted it on the outside of the door, and before Jeanne, 
 who had gone into an inner room to set her bonnet 
 straight at the glass, returned, Madame had locked 
 her within the room. 
 
 "There," called Madame, " if you want the sergent 
 de ville, then I do not. We have never agreed very 
 well, have we, Valery?" 
 
 " It is a lady's privilege to change her mind," called 
 back Valery. 
 
 " What is that rattling sound, Mamasha dear? " 
 asked he, as he came through the dining-room into 
 the corridor and halted just outside the kitchen 
 door. 
 
 "Another key, Valery dear," Madame smiled 
 sweetly. 
 
 " You'll have the register full of keys, won't you, 
 dear old Mamasha? " There was war in Valery 's 
 eye as he advanced toward the little woman. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, " shrieked Madame. There was no 
 answer. Mademoiselle had suddenly left the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " Now, Mamasha, " said Valery persistently, " I in- 
 tend to see into that desk, sooner or later. I can go 
 out and lock you in, by physical force, a means which 
 I hesitate to use upon a lady, more than all upon my 
 own dear mother-in-law, and I can go down-stairs 
 and get the concierge to send some one up here to 
 take the desk away. The alternative is that I can 
 smash it with my foot." 
 
 Madame glanced at the russet shoes. 
 
 " They're big enough for anything, " said she. Her 
 son-in-law made a motion to approach the desk.
 
 390 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Don't do that, Valery," Madame was again tearful 
 and submissive. 
 
 "Very well, then, I shall go out and send for a 
 locksmith to release my friend, Jeanne " 
 
 Madame sniffed and bridled. " Your friend, 
 Jeanne ! " 
 
 "And while he is here he can open the desk," Val- 
 ery continued, as if his remarks had not been inter- 
 rupted. "Now, which will you prefer, dearest Ma- 
 roasha? " 
 
 " Valery, you are a great, big, overgrown, African 
 savage. What Allaire ever wanted to marry you 
 for " 
 
 "Poor little Allaire," said Valery, with a sigh 
 which always accompanied the mention of his dead 
 wife, " I don't think she did, Mamasha. It was you 
 who thrust her at me, poor little dear ! and I thank 
 you every day of my life for two years of real happi- 
 ness. I made her happy, too." 
 
 Here was Madame 's opportunity. 
 
 " And how badly dear Allaire would feel to know 
 that her poor little mother was being bullied by a 
 great big brute of a " 
 
 Valery rose shamefacedly. 
 
 "That is true, Mamasha. That is true. If you 
 will tell me honestly what is in that desk, I will go 
 away and leave you." 
 
 " You will go away and leave me " 
 
 "Yes, if you tell me truly." 
 
 "And you won't tell Alixe? " 
 
 "I will tell no one, Mamasha." 
 
 " Well, then, they are Alixe's jewels." 
 
 "I knew it," said Valery, in tones full of convic- 
 tion.
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 391 
 
 "How did you know it? " 
 
 " I have been to the banker's, for one thing ; for an- 
 other, because you said that you had decided not to 
 ask for them." 
 
 "And what did he tell you— the banker, I mean? " 
 asked Madame nervously. 
 
 " He told me that you had brought an order from 
 Alixe. Oh, Mamasha! Mamasha! A forger, and at 
 your early age." 
 
 "It is false, Valery. I had an order signed in 
 Alixe's handwriting." 
 
 "When did she sign it? Ah, Mamasha, Mama- 
 sha, that statement is what the Americans call ' too 
 thin.' C'est cousu de fil blanc." 
 
 Madame hesitated. 
 
 "When?" asked Valery. 
 
 "Well— well — Valery, she — she— signed it — some, 
 some years ago." 
 
 " Some years ago ! Why, she wasn't married some 
 years ago." 
 
 "It depends on what you call some years; say two 
 years ago." 
 
 " There are all ways of looking at things ; observez 
 l'integrite en tout, Mamasha." 
 
 "I am willing to confess to you, Valery," said 
 Madame in a serious tone, " that it was not lately — 
 in fact, that the order for the jewels was written after 
 the signature was placed upon the paper ; but that it 
 is Alixe's signature, you yourself would be obliged to 
 swear in a court of justice." 
 
 "Let me see it," said Valery. 
 
 "They have it at the bank," said Madame. 
 
 "How did you happen to have Alixe's signature? " 
 
 "Why, there was an old writing pad on which I
 
 392 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 made Alixe practise her name just before she married 
 the dear Duke. I made her write 'Alixe, Duchesse 
 di Brazzia,' 'Alixe, Duchesse di Brazzia,' several 
 times " 
 
 " Not knowing how soon you would wish to use it. 
 Oh, Mamasha, Mamasha ! Fie, oh, fie ! " 
 
 " There was no harm in it," said Madame, speaking 
 very fast. " You needn't be so collet monte, Valery ! 
 Valery ! a poor woman who lives as I do, one little 
 bonne a tout faire, no luxuries, no bank account, who 
 lives, you may say, on charity, and has a chance to 
 marry a man of title " 
 
 At this moment there was a ring at the outer bell. 
 
 "I will go," said Madame. 
 
 "And I will stay with the jewels," said Yalery. 
 
 Madame passed out of the door to return almost 
 immediately, followed b} r Jeanne, who was in turn fol- 
 lowed by two rather sturdy-looking sergents de ville. 
 
 "It is the lady," began Jeanne in her weak, fright- 
 ened voice. 
 
 " How under heaven, Jeanne " 
 
 " Through the window by the escalier de service, 
 Monsieur. It is the lady, Messieurs, whom " 
 
 Madame thrust Jeanne aside and faced the fore- 
 most of the men. "I order you to arrest this man," 
 she said, pointing to Yalery. " He is in my apart- 
 ments making a disturbance." 
 
 "Monsieur l'officier," began Yalery, but Madame 
 was too quick for him, with her sweet voice, and 
 sweeter ways, and sweetest eyes. 
 
 "Officer," she repeated, "arrest that man." Ma- 
 dame's tone was tragic. The officer gazed at her a 
 moment. 
 
 "Is it that I must arrest the Monsieur? "
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 393 
 
 " Yes, yes ! You see that I am alone. This man 
 forces himself upon me — he " 
 
 "I hope that the Monsieur will pardon me," said 
 the officer. " I hope that the Monsieur will make no 
 disturbance. I should not like to use force upon the 
 Monsieur." 
 
 "Faith, an' I could do for the two of you," said 
 Valery. 
 
 " This is an insane man," said Madame. " How he 
 got in here I do not know." The sergent de ville's 
 eyes wandered and wondered over Valery 's butterfly 
 costume and angry face. 
 
 " Where do you come from? " he demanded shortly. 
 
 Valery laughed, the laugh was a sardonic one ; in 
 that laugh the sergent de ville heard the proof of in- 
 sanity which Madame had declared was there. He 
 glanced behind him to see that his double was within 
 safe distance. There was evidence of hard muscle 
 underneath the light sleeve of H. Valery, Esq. 
 
 "Mamasha," said Valery, with an unpleasant glit- 
 ter of the eye, " I would smash that desk into splin- 
 ters, but for the distress that it would cause Alixe. 
 I don't want her to be disgraced more than necessary 
 by her own mother." 
 
 " Not to mention yourself," added Madame quickly. 
 Then, in French, to the sergent de ville: "You do 
 not understand this man, Monsieur. He threatens to 
 break open my escritoire. It contains family jewels 
 and important papers. You must arrest him at 
 once. Instead of being crazy, I think now that he 
 is drunk. II est gris, gris, Monsieur, gris comme un 
 cordelier ! " 
 
 " I hope that Monsieur will make no disturbance, 
 that Monsieur will not compel me to use force, but
 
 394 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 since Madame makes this charge — it is Madame 's 
 apartment, I suppose " 
 
 "Oh, yes — yes — it's her apartment fast enough." 
 
 Valery arose and saluted Madame in the most ras- 
 taquouerian manner, his hat sweeping the floor. 
 
 "Mamasha," said he, "I bow to your superior wit, 
 and cleverness, and beauty. I believe you'd flirt with 
 the coal carrier. Good-by ! You win this time, dear 
 old Mamasha, but next time look out ! " 
 
 As Yalery walked down the stairs, Madame called 
 shrilly, " Jeanne, Jeanne, get me a fiacre. I must go 
 at once to the bank, and you must come with me." 
 Jeanne, now that her champion Yalery had gone, es- 
 corted by two officers, the sight of whom causes the 
 bourgeois element to shake as if in the clutches of a 
 chill, Jeanne, the vacillating, wilted and sought a 
 fiacre. 
 
 "And Mademoiselle, when she returns, Madame? " 
 
 " She should not have gone out," Madame answered 
 her bonne a tout f aire ; " she can wait now, as other 
 people will have to do." Madame locked the outer 
 door and slipped the key within her pocket. " Tell 
 him to stop at a locksmith's coming home, Jeanne. 
 I shall need him an hour later. To the bank ! " said 
 Madame to the cocher, " and if you drive well, double 
 pourboire." 
 
 When Madame entered the bank, she at once en- 
 dorsed a large draft, of whom the payee was Annie 
 Petrofsky, the payer H. Yalery. 
 
 "Will you deposit any part of this, Madame Petrof- 
 sky? " asked the paying teller. 
 
 "No, I'll take it all, thank you; all." Madame 
 sighed happily as she received the money. 
 
 " Just think what he might have done ! " she com-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 395 
 
 mimed with herself, as she counted out the rouleaux 
 of gold. " If he were not in the police office at this 
 moment, explaining matters, he might be counter- 
 manding the order for this delightfully large sum of 
 louis." 
 
 As Madame returned to her apartment she halted 
 the cocher twice: once to send a locksmith to her 
 rooms, and the other to write a telegram. Her bride- 
 groom, like all impatient, middle-aged lovers, would 
 have been glad to have fixed an earlier date for the 
 day of the wedding. Madame had put him coyly 
 off, but to-day she seemed to think better of it. Her 
 telegram was addressed to Lord Eldon, Eldon Towers, 
 England, and read : 
 
 " I feel now as you do. Can arrange for the day 
 after to-morrow if you can get here. Let me know. 
 Cannot have a grand affair on account of accident to 
 Gartha. Answer. " 
 
 Lord Eldon was all smiles as he started for the lit- 
 tle station near his place — smiles not driven away by 
 Madame's leaving him to pay the charges for the 
 message. He sped swiftly on Love's wings to the con- 
 tinent. 
 
 On the day after Valery had been asked to leave 
 Madame's apartments, and had acquiesced, had been 
 escorted to the police office, had sent for an influential 
 French friend, and had explained, and been apologized 
 to, he was sitting in his rooms wondering, as he ex- 
 pressed it, how he could get even with Mamasha. As 
 thus he sat, a telegram was brought in. It was early 
 morning, and the Rastaquouere was sipping his black 
 coffee in a suit of pajamas which made him more re- 
 semble a tropical butterfly than anything he had ever 
 worn. The ground of his breakfast suit was yellow;
 
 396 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 the bars were very broad and of deep blue, with spaces 
 between. There was an occasional, cross stripe of red, 
 which completed a pattern that could only be well 
 shown by two arbiters of fashion. 
 
 Yalery made a wry face and set down his cup. He 
 rang, and the spruce breakfast waiter appeared at 
 once. H. Yalery, Esquire, gave too generous tips 
 for any garcon to keep him waiting one moment long- 
 er than necessary. 
 
 " Alphonse, " he said, in the best French that he 
 could muster, "please give my compliments to the 
 maitre d' hotel, and tell him that I should like more 
 coffee and less burnt bread crusts " 
 
 " But I assure the Monsieur, " said Alphonse, in the 
 most perfect English, " that the coffee is made of pure 
 coffee, and is made fresh every day, and is bought at 
 Potin's, and is made by the chef, in the finest cop- 
 per utensils of the batterie de cuisine, and is " 
 
 " Tu paries ! Charles, tu paries ! " said Valery in the 
 slang of the day, shaking his flat hand at the man 
 with a patting motion in the air. " Tu paries, Charles ! 
 Go tell the maitre d'hotel." 
 
 There was a knock at the door. Alfonse opened 
 it, to receive a telegraphic message for H. Valery, 
 Esquire, which he handed to that gentleman. Valery 
 jumped from his seat. He forgot his coffee, he for- 
 got his wish to snub Alphonse for his much speaking, 
 he seized the paper and tore it open at once. He 
 hardly allowed his eyes to skim along the lines before 
 he dashed the telegram to the floor, and began seizing 
 various articles of dress, and crowding them into a 
 valise. His face was white, his hands shaking so 
 that he could not hold a piece of clothing when he 
 had taken it from the chair.
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 397 
 
 "Send that lazy Savin up here at once," he said. 
 "Here, Savin, where have you been? Pack these 
 things at once ; order me a cab, somebody. I must get 
 away at once. No, leave the other things. Here, 
 lock up the rooms and let us be off. " 
 
 Valery had started out of the door with a high hat 
 upon his head, his feet thrust into a pair of red cloth 
 slippers, and no other clothing than the yellow and 
 blue night-suit. As many times as he had cut a cu- 
 rious figure because of his florid taste in dress, this 
 moment eclipsed them all. "When Alphonse reminded 
 him that he could hardly take the train in such a cos- 
 tume, he growled, then raged, and wept alternately, 
 and finally sent Savin on to the station for the tickets. 
 
 The telegram was from Alixe, and read, " Come at 
 once." Naturally, Valery 's heart gave a bound. 
 Gartha was his first thought. 
 
 ''How could I go and leave the child?" he ex- 
 claimed aloud. "How could I? "
 
 XLIV. 
 
 When the priest had found himself upon the wrong 
 side of the door, he shivered again with fright. His 
 teeth chattered, he reeled and put his hand to his 
 head. Then he listened. He could hear nothing but 
 the vain efforts of Alixe to push the great bed back 
 into its proper position. He dared not move, for he 
 knew that there were stairs somewhere in the vicinity, 
 and he feared to plunge down them headlong. He 
 searched within his pockets and found a few matches. 
 These he began to strike. The first one showed him 
 the circular stairs leading downward from the Lady 
 Abbess's room, and the others lighted his way to the 
 bottom. He remembered the door at the foot of these 
 stairs, and he unbolted it and stepped forth into the 
 night. 
 
 The garden lay bathed in a mist of silver. The 
 tall, red lilies were bent and weighted down with the 
 moisture of the night. He listened. There was now 
 no near sound, he heard only the distant whistle of a 
 night train, and he stepped boldly out and descended 
 the steps of the garden. The stars were shining over- 
 head. He saw them twinkle through the moonlit 
 mist. He saw the dim shape of the Abbey. He felt 
 the cold dew of midnight on every blade and leaf that 
 his sole crushed as he walked. He knew not where 
 to go. The miller's family had never liked him, be- 
 cause of some real or fancied attentions which were
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 399 
 
 more than priestly toward Marie Monrouge, and he 
 felt that Pierre might do him bodily violence if he 
 should ask refuge at the mill. As Halle walked and 
 thought, he stepped within the ruins. He started 
 back fearfully, holy man that he was ! for there, in a 
 remote corner, was a figure in some sort of light dra- 
 pery. 
 
 "Who is there?" he demanded, though his knees 
 shook under him, proof positive that he could be no 
 good Catholic. 
 
 " Sh-h-h ! " A finger was raised as the ghostly whis- 
 per came through the mist. The figure advanced; 
 Halle began to retreat. 
 
 "In the name of God, what are you? " he shouted. 
 
 There was an answering shout outside the ruins : 
 "Trapped!" 
 
 " Oh, Father ! Father ! You have made a mistake. 
 Fly! Fly! They are not gone." 
 
 As Marie Monrouge was speaking, Halle heard the 
 sound of running feet. He turned and fled through 
 the further door of the Abbey, and along on the top 
 of the oubliette. There was the sound of hastening 
 footsteps, and three men dashed through the archway 
 and into the ruined interior. Marie Monrouge, trans- 
 fixed with fright, was a sight which they did not ex- 
 pect. They all started back in dismay to see this 
 pale, misty figure within the Abbey walls. Marie 
 Monrouge was quick-witted. She thought to her- 
 self. " The longer I can persuade them that I am a 
 spirit, the better for the Father. " 
 
 She heard the sound of Halle's feet as he sped 
 along outside the walls. She waved a ghostly arm, 
 and the men drew back. 
 
 Finally one said : " Do you not hear the sound of
 
 400 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 running feet? This is some lure. Come, let us go 
 after him." 
 
 They faced about and ran, turning their backs upon 
 the supposed spirit. 
 
 When Marie Monrouge found that she had had the 
 effect of frightening the sergents de ville away, and 
 that they had followed exactly in the priest's foot- 
 steps, she called in an agonizing voice : 
 
 "Messieurs! Messieurs! That is not the way. 
 If you are looking for the Father, he has gone back 
 through the garden, up there by the chateau. I saw 
 him but now " 
 
 But the pursuers had all passed out of the further 
 archway and were beating the bush for their quarry. 
 There, outside the walls, was an ancient grove, where 
 the nuns used to walk, and the pursuers ran through 
 the various paths, calling, and shouting, and ordering 
 Halle to surrender. Finally, finding no one, they 
 came out of the little wood and stood in consultation. 
 
 " I distinctly saw him as he crossed the flower gar- 
 den," said one. 
 
 "Ah, ha! You were wise to take my advice, Cha- 
 brol, " said another. " I knew that if we left the horses 
 at the bend of the road and crept back on foot, we 
 should have the villain." 
 
 " And now, which way ? " asked a third. 
 
 "What is this grating?" said the first. He 
 scratched a match and dropped it down. A scared 
 white face, with deep-set eyes, looked up at him from 
 its black depths. 
 
 " He is here ! He is here ! " said number two. 
 "There ! Do you not see him? " But the figure had 
 disappeared from beneath the bell-shaped cover, or 
 roof, of the cell, where it had been standing but a mo-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 401 
 
 ment before. The police now began to scour the field 
 to find the entrance to the hiding-place of the hunted 
 man. He had been run to earth. 
 
 "They will have me," he groaned aloud. Sud- 
 denly, he bethought him of a passage where Gartha 
 had crawled in one day, and had been drawn out 
 nearly enveloped with spider's webs. Halle looked 
 anxiously this way and that. There was no other 
 method of escape. Now he saw a light at the end of 
 the passage through which he had fled. In a moment 
 they would be upon him. The light came nearer, he 
 heard voices, the ray was creeping, creeping along 
 the ground. Anything would be better than capture, 
 death even ! Halle crouched at the dark entrance, 
 upon hands and knees ; he heard his pursuers behind 
 him, then crept head foremost into the hole. Their 
 lantern shed its beams a short distance, and then was 
 lost in the darkness of the tunnel. He crawled on 
 and on. Slimy toads squeaked and hopped aside. 
 His head was pushed through great cobwebs which 
 had not been disturbed for generations ; once some- 
 thing sinuous and long glided over his hand. Once 
 his palm was laid upon a bone. He grasped it. It 
 felt like the bone of a human being. An awful terror 
 seized him. The place smelt of the charnel house. 
 He fell upon his face, and as he fell, he clutched a 
 round thing. His fingers were forced into a cavity; 
 he knew that it was a skull ; he could have sworn that 
 the teeth had closed upon his hand. The terrors of 
 the place were great, but nothing to the horrors that 
 he was leaving behind. He heard a shout, a muffled 
 shout, for his crawling figure nearly closed up the 
 passage. What if one of them, smaller than the rest, 
 should try to follow him? What if he should be 
 26
 
 402 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 crawling close behind with his bayonet? What if he 
 should shoot him through the body as he pushed 
 slowly and helplessly forward? He endeavored to 
 turn himself about, but the passage was too narrow 
 for that, and he realized at once that he could never 
 return unless he could manage to push himself back- 
 ward, feet first. As he crawled, his mouth and nos- 
 trils were filled with the dust of decay ; hairy crea- 
 tures crossed his hands, or fell upon his head, and 
 wriggled their way amidst his hair or across his neck. 
 But this, even this, was better than being taken alive, 
 and he pushed on. Once he felt a sharp, stinging 
 pain ; then heard a distant report. 
 
 Ah ! they were shooting at him then ! Helpless as 
 he was, caged in this narrow, stifling cylinder, should 
 he turn, of what avail? He would be shot in the face, 
 and then, when his dead body lay before her, and she 
 looked down upon him — No, no! better push on. 
 The place was getting stifling, something was pouring 
 down over his eyes, dripping in front of him. His 
 hands were wet. Ah ! the bullet had struck him then. 
 The thought made him faint, ill. He had always 
 fainted at the sight of blood. He thought that he 
 could smell it. He turned on his side, sick and dizzy. 
 Was not there an opening further on? He had heard 
 that this passageway had been built as a means of 
 escape to the river, for use in the old times when the 
 cloister had been attacked. Here, it was said, the 
 gentle sisters had taken refuge. It was dark! So 
 dark ! He turned a little more, and felt with his fingers 
 overhead. Yes, the low roof was arched, and ceiled 
 with the same small stones which lined the entrance. 
 If men had done this work, they must have been able 
 to get out in some way. He turned again upon his
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 403 
 
 face, raised his head and looked forward. All was 
 black. He sought in vain for some faintest ray 
 of daylight to show that the passage opened into the 
 outer air. He fancied that he saw it. No, it was 
 only the sparks of light dancing before his eyes. 
 Something rustled behind him. Had one of those 
 servants of the law come thus far after him ? Should 
 they have a hand-to-hand fight in the passage? He 
 would be at a disadvantage, for he could not turn. 
 Was the passage growing smaller, or was this a sud- 
 den faintness which was overcoming him? Some- 
 thing rustled again. Halle made a thrust with his 
 foot. The unseen thing ran over his body, and set 
 small, sharp teeth within the palm of his hand. The 
 tortured being crawled on for a few paces; then a 
 dreadful nausea overcame him, and he sank down, his 
 head resting upon a heap of bones — the bones, per- 
 haps, of some other creature who had been hunted to 
 the death.
 
 XLV. 
 
 When Valery readied the Abbey, lie was met by 
 Alixe at the grille which opened upon the terrace. 
 Her face was pale, her eyes were hollow. 
 
 "Valery," she said, "you must take us away at 
 once." 
 
 "Take you away, and where to? " 
 
 "Anywhere! I care not, only so that I leave this 
 place!" 
 
 "AndGartha?" 
 
 " The doctor says that with care she can travel. n 
 
 "Where will you go, Alixe? " 
 
 "I have no choice. Anywhere! Anywhere!" 
 And then Alixe told her brother-in-law of the priest's 
 visit on the previous night, of the visits of the sol- 
 diers, their return, as Marie Monrouge had told it to 
 her, and her belief that Halle had been taken or 
 killed. 
 
 "If he has been taken," said Valeiy, "he probably 
 deserves it." 
 
 "Oh! Valery. 'Do you really mean it? You can- 
 not think him guilty of so grave a crime. I suppose 
 that I should go to the dear Archbishop's funeral, but 
 Gartha " 
 
 " You have no need to go, " said Valery, smiling. 
 
 "No? Oh, Valery ! You do not mean " 
 
 " Yes, I do mean. I do mean that he is not dead,
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 405 
 
 and there is a very good chance for his recovery. 
 How soon can you be ready, Alixe? " 
 
 "This moment, this afternoon. I " 
 
 "I cannot go until to-morrow, Alixe. There are 
 one or two things that I must see to in Paris. Ma- 
 masha — " He stopped. He would not destroy the 
 daughter's faith in the mother too entirely. 
 
 "What of my mother, Valery? " 
 
 'Would — would you — I was only thinking that you 
 might wish to see her " 
 
 "No, Valery, no! I wish only to get away with 
 Gartha. Only with Gartha. The poor little thing is 
 so sallow and thin. More of a brownie than ever ! " 
 
 'You don't mind my going along as baby-tender 
 and trunk-strapper, I suppose? " 
 
 Alixe smiled faintly. 
 
 " There, now ! You look more like your old self, 
 little sister ! " 
 
 At this Alixe smiled again, as she gave Valery a 
 level look from her splendid height. 
 
 'Very well, then, I'll go up and have a look at Gar- 
 tha, and be off to Paris by the next train. Whom will 
 you take with you? " 
 
 " Marie Monrouge, " said Alixe. " Gartha is devoted 
 to Marie Monrouge." 
 
 There was a ring at the gate. Alixe and Valery re- 
 treated to the salon, Valery running up-stairs to 
 Alixe's room, where Gartha was sitting on a couch, 
 putting together a map of Africa. 
 
 "Oh, Valery, dear!" said the child, "I am trying 
 so hard to learn all about the places where you have 
 been. I hate puzzles and geography, but Alixe 
 thought it would be of an amusement, and she sent for 
 a puzzle map of Africa. Kegardez, Valery ! The
 
 406 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 land won't go in anywhere, and the Boers are always 
 on top. " 
 
 "Faith, you'll always find 'em on top!" said Val- 
 ery, from his standpoint of Irish prejudice. A pre- 
 diction which has not been fulfilled. " Do you want 
 to go away? " 
 
 "No, not peticly," saidGartha, "but if Alixe wants 
 me to, je m'enbats l'ceil." Valery looked a trifle sol- 
 emn at this outrageous slang, but how could he cor- 
 rect her now? 
 
 "So you like the map? " 
 
 "C'est epatant! The artist-peintre of Marie Mon- 
 rouge, he teached me that C'est epatant ! " and Gartha 
 laughed. "Are you coming with us, Papachen? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I'm going to be bandbox-carrier to your 
 two majesties." 
 
 This made Gartha laugh again. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. It was Marie Mon- 
 rouge. Her appearance resembled that of the rest of 
 the human beings about the establishment. She was 
 wild-eyed and frightened. " Does not Marie Monrouge 
 appear ridicule?" asked Gartha. "She was at the 
 Abbey all the last night playing at ghosts. One of 
 these revenants. Oh ! how I wish I had saw her. I 
 never saw a revenant. " 
 
 " Madame la Duchesse sends me to say, monsieur, 
 that a young monsieur is below waiting to speak with 
 you." 
 
 "Who the devil can have followed me here? " ex- 
 claimed Yalery. 
 
 He ran down the stairs and found Alixe in conver- 
 sation with a lad about eight years of age. 
 
 "Why! Hola, Jan! How are you? Where did 
 you come from? "
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 407 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Valery? I came from Ire- 
 land, really, but I got taken past the station yester- 
 day, down into the south of France, and had to get 
 out, and come back on another train. How is Gar- 
 tha, Mr. Valery?" 
 
 "Eight as rain, as my prospective father-in-law 
 would say. Have you come to see Gartha? " 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Valery," said Jan MacDonald, looking 
 down with becoming embarrassment. " I heard she 
 has been hurt and was very ill. I should have been 
 here a week ago, but my allowance had given out, 
 and I had to wait for Uncle Jack's next check." 
 
 "So Quentin keeps you pretty short, does he? " 
 
 "No, sir," said the lad, "but he didn't expect me 
 to come to France. I had to borrow all of Elsie, 
 my cousin's, allowance, and Ann Macune's wages. 
 Ann Macune is fond of Gartha — she was willing " 
 
 " Who isn't, Jan? Even the poor old Weasel. Come 
 up-stairs." 
 
 Alixe rose and came toward the lad. 
 
 "Do you mean that you are Mr. Quentin's 
 nephew? " she asked. She laid her hands on Jan's 
 shoulders and looked down into the fresh young face. 
 
 : 'Yes, Madame, I am Jan. When can I see 
 Gartha? " 
 
 "I will go and tell her that you are here," said 
 Alixe. " Let me go, Valery, and bring Jan up when 
 Marie Monrouge comes for you. " 
 
 "Nom de Dieu! I thought some of my lovers 
 might be coming," said Gartha, when she heard that 
 Jan had arrived. " Do not you know that song Mary 
 Thorndike used to sing, when she used to puff and 
 blow all the music off the piano, Alixe, about the dy- 
 ing girl listening for her lover? I have been listening
 
 408 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 just like that all the day. The doctor may say that 1 
 am well, dear aunt, but I am not getting strong. I 
 am thin and pale, and my food sits heavy on my 
 stomach." 
 
 " I should think it might, " said Valery , who was 
 mounting the stairs, not waiting for the summons, 
 " if what I have seen you eat this morning is a sam- 
 ple. Here's Jan, Gartha. Come all the way from 
 the Scotch-Irish border to see my little girl." 
 
 Gartha, taken unaware, lay hurriedly back among 
 the pillows. She managed to give her eyes an ex- 
 tremely hollow look ; she drew her lips tightly over 
 her teeth ; she panted as if it were difficult to get her 
 breath ; she laid a wan and weary hand outside the 
 shawl which covered her thin little legs, and when 
 Alixe looked at it, she found that it was trembling like 
 a leaf. The other was as steady as usual. 
 
 "How do you do, Jan?" said Gartha, in a weak, 
 faint voice. " Cher ami, how I have longed for you." 
 
 At this fervent speech Jan looked up, then down. 
 His embarrassment was so great that he stood in the 
 middle of the room unable to move. There was a 
 choking sound from the far corner of the room, where 
 Valery leaned out of the window. All that could be 
 seen of his neck was very red; his great shoulders 
 were shaking convulsively. 
 
 "Do not weep, dear father," said Gartha, anx- 
 iously. "I am going to a brighter and better home. 
 I hear the angels, les anges, calling on the moment." 
 
 At this fine speech Jan MacDonald gave one look at 
 Gartha' s drawn lips and hollow eyes, and burst into 
 a passion of sobs. 
 
 "Gartha," said Alixe, "how can you! See poor 
 Jan ! Sit up and behave yourself."
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 409 
 
 "Do not weep, dear Jan," said Gartha. "Come 
 nearer and let me wipe your tears with my dear 
 aunt's handkerchief. There is one request that I 
 want to make to you, Jan." 
 
 Jan's crying was so loud that it drowned Valery's 
 laughter. 
 
 ' You know the white, white rose that grows within 
 the Abbey yonder, dear, dearest Jan." 
 
 " Don't know nothin' 'bout your old Abbey," roared 
 Jan, sobbing louder than ever. Gartha sighed with 
 pious resignation. 
 
 "Nom de Dieu!" she said, gazing heavenward, 
 " but not to know my rose. My dear aunt will show 
 you where it is when I am gone. Go to that 
 bush " 
 
 By this time Jan had thrown himself upon the floor 
 by the side of the couch, and was sobbing his boyish 
 heart out upon Gartha's still trembling hand. 
 
 'You — you said you was goin' to grow up an' — an' 
 — mar — mar — ry — me," sobbed Jan, "and now you're 
 — you're — goin' — to — die. You — you — 're — a be — 
 heast!" 
 
 Gartha withdrew her hand from beneath Jan's wet 
 face, and laid it, still shaking, on his curly head, re- 
 membering suddenly a scene which she had gloated 
 over in one of Marie Monrouge's tales. 
 
 "I could not marry you, dear Jan," she said, "if I 
 would. I am pre — pre — engage to your uncle." 
 
 "He's — he's — a beast, too," roared Jan. 
 
 Gartha sat up in bed, and held up one warning fin- 
 ger toward Jan. 
 
 " Ta bouche ! Bebe Rose," she exclaimed with the 
 proper gutturals. " Ta bouche ! " 
 
 "Gartha! Gartha!"
 
 410 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Gartha, on bearing Yalery's remonstrative tones, 
 looked sweetly up in his eyes. 
 
 " Tu paries ! Charles, tu paries ! " 
 
 " Gartha ! " It was Alixe whose horrified tones were 
 heard now above Jan's sobbings. 
 
 " Mamasha says it. I heard her say it to Harry 
 Ware." 
 
 "Come, now, Gartha, come down from your 
 high horse and show Jan your puzzle map of Af- 
 rica. 
 
 Poor Jan arose from his lowly position by Gar- 
 tha's bedside. He was very angry, as well as much 
 mortified, at being made a medium to amuse the 
 grown-ups. He turned forlornly toward the door, 
 his tears almost dried. 
 
 "Don't quarrel with the little girl, Jan," called 
 Valery. " You know she's somewhat fond of acting. 
 She's all right now, and I hope you'll forget and 
 forgive." 
 
 Jan stood sulkily in the middle distance. 
 
 "Via les Anglish," piped Gartha, who seemed to 
 be in her most vicious mood. Then, perceiving from 
 Yalery's looks that she had gone too far, she hastily 
 added : " Le Eire says it ! " 
 
 " So you read Le Eire," commented Yalery dryly. 
 "Your education seems to be getting its finishing 
 touches." 
 
 " The artist-peintre sends it to Marie Monrouge," 
 explained Gartha. "We read it at the mill while 
 Mere Monrouge knits. She clicks her tongue and 
 says, 'Si j'etais encore jeune!' She lived in the 
 Quartier, when she was gosse." 
 
 Yalery left Jan at the Abbey, and took the after- 
 noon train for Paris. His last words were, "I shall
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 411 
 
 come back to-morrow, all ready for a trip to the 
 moon, if you say so." 
 
 Valery, however, did not keep his promise. When 
 he got to Paris, he found Quentin sitting in his rooms, 
 where he had arrived soon after Yalery had left them. 
 
 " Have you heard the news? " asked Quentin." 
 
 " It never rains but it pours," said Valery. " Let's 
 have it. There can't be worse or more of it than I 
 have heard already." 
 
 "What! Whatl" stammered Quentin. "Is Ma- 
 dame, is Alixe — ■ — " 
 
 "They are all right at the Abbey," said Valery. 
 " What is your news'? " 
 
 "Haven't you seen the morning papers?" asked 
 Quentin. 
 
 "Haven't looked at a paper to-day. Had no time. 
 Don't get 'em at the Abbey. Been on the keen jump 
 all day ! Not Mamasha! The dear old lady hasn't 
 slipped up on Eldon, has she? " 
 
 "Nothing so trivial as that," said Quentin. "It's 
 about St. Aubin " 
 
 " St. Aubin ! " repeated Valery. " St. Aubin ! What 
 has he been doing? Not robbing a bank? " 
 
 "Worse than that! Le Figaro says that he has 
 killed himself." 
 
 "Oh, no, no, Quentin. Try something else. St. 
 Aubin isn't that kind. Tell me that " 
 
 " I think it must be true," said Quentin. " The ac- 
 count is very circumstantial " 
 
 " Why should he kill himself? " asked Valery, in 
 an awe-struck voice. 
 
 "Read the account, it is all there." Quentin 
 handed Valery the journal. He carried it to the win- 
 dow, for the light was waning, and read a few lines.
 
 412 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " Quentin, " he said, turning to the other, " go down 
 at once and telegraph in my name to the station at 
 Moncousis. Tell them not to send the papers to the 
 Abbey to-day or to-morrow — in fact, not until I come. 
 Please go at once." 
 
 Quentin was out of the door and half-way down the 
 stairs before Valery had finished his instructions. 
 
 Then Valery stood by the window and read the 
 dreadful story of how a small, dark stranger had 
 driven to the wharf of a great ocean steamship, be- 
 hind the dray that held his boxes. He kept them in 
 sight every moment, was everywhere among the dray- 
 men at the wharf, ordering that the boxes be removed 
 with great care. They were packed with valuable and 
 brittle glass, he said, and the least jar might break 
 them. None of the boxes was heavy but one. This, 
 the last one to be removed by the men, was slowly 
 drawn along the bottom of the dray and rested on 
 the extreme edge. At that moment the wharf-master 
 shouted : 
 
 "What are you doing with those boxes? They do 
 not belong here. Take them down to the other gang- 
 way ! " 
 
 "These are my boxes," said the stranger. "This 
 box is to go into my stateroom." 
 
 " It is too high for a stateroom, " said the wharf- 
 master. 
 
 " It is to go into my stateroom," repeated the stran- 
 ger persistently, as if unused to contradiction. 
 
 " Hi, there, you men, push that box back into the 
 wagon. Take it down the wharf to the other gang- 
 way," said the wharf-master crossly. 
 
 The men turned to listen to the altercation. One 
 had released his hold ; the other felt the box slipping,
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 413 
 
 and fearing that it would fall upon his foot, sprang 
 out of the way. He might as well have remained, for 
 at that moment there was a terrific explosion. He 
 was blown to a thousand atoms. Another, the dray- 
 man, was killed, and several of the police were knocked 
 senseless. 
 
 The stranger, on seeing the explosion, ran on board 
 the steamer, and down below into his stateroom. It 
 was on the lower tier. There was the sound of a pis- 
 tol shot. They found him lying on the floor, bleed- 
 ing profusely and past all help. He died as they 
 lifted him to the bed. " It is impossible that it was 
 St. Aubin," said Valery aloud. "He always travels 
 so luxuriously. He always took a deck cabin." But 
 on reading further, he began to see light through the 
 darkness. Suspicion had already been aroused, and 
 the busy police and journalists were at work probing 
 the matter to the bottom. The box was found to con- 
 tain a complicated mass of the most ingeniously con- 
 structed mechanism, to which men had given the 
 most pertinent of names, that of infernal machine. 
 Different parts of it were picked up on the wharf 
 where they had fallen, and enough was found to 
 prove that this was the devilish plan of a devil's na- 
 ture. 
 
 The body of the stranger had been identified by one 
 of the Paris police, who had been sent to investi- 
 gate the affair, as that of the Count St. Aubin. Then 
 came forward the insurance company, who told the 
 tale of the box having been insured lately with them, 
 for a very large amount, by the Count St. Aubin. It 
 was to be shipped on the steamer of that same date. 
 In scanning their books they discovered that some- 
 thing of the same kind had been done before. They
 
 414 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 found that the Count St. Aubin had insured other 
 boxes for like large sums of money. The insurance 
 had invariably been paid, for the steamers in which 
 the boxes %ad been shipped had never been heard 
 from! 
 
 " Virginia Danielli ! " muttered Valery to himself, 
 shaking his head. "Virginia Danielli!" He sat 
 down by the window and tried to reason it all out. 
 Bruno was not contemplating an ocean voyage, of 
 this he felt certain. He had gone to the German 
 port to sail for Southampton. He had taken a room 
 as near the bottom of the ship as possible. Had it 
 been part of his plan to leave the steamer at South- 
 ampton, and leave the box behind in that room in the 
 bowels of the vessel? "Oh, my God!" exclaimed 
 Valery. "Set, probably, so that it would explode 
 within a given time." Then he read from the journal 
 this sentence: "A box had been deposited on the 
 10th of August on board the Ocean Monarch, and 
 insured at the company's office by the Count St. 
 Aubin." 
 
 Quentin found Valery walking up and down the 
 room with his hands to his head. 
 
 "I don't know what to do, Quentin," he said. 
 " Should I go and claim that yellow little carcass, or 
 should I go back and take Alixe away? " 
 
 "Go and take her away, for God's sake," said 
 Quentin. " I will see to the burial, just as if you 
 were here." 
 
 "You remember how they talked of his emotion 
 when Virginia Danielli was lost? I should think he 
 would have shown emotion ! He didn't care a rap for 
 Virginia; was rather jealous of the affection which 
 Alixe showed for her, in fact; but I know he was sur-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 415 
 
 prised to find that she was going on that steamer. 
 That time, perhaps, he had sent his box before him. 
 It may have been on a bill of lading. It may have 
 been put in the hold ; and perhaps he was afraid to 
 ask again for its return, for fear of giving the whole 
 game away. I don't know much about such things, 
 thank God ! He may have ordered it put on board in 
 Southampton, and not have been able to stop the 
 thing. Perhaps his tool, Halle, was over there, and 
 got the box started before Bruno could stop him. A 
 nice pair of murderers, trafficking in human blood! 
 It makes me physically sick," and Valery promptly 
 began to show how his feelings had overcome him, 
 for, strong man as he was, he tumbled over in a heap 
 on the sofa. 
 
 "And about the papers, Quentin?" asked Valery, 
 when he recovered himself. 
 
 "Oh, atMoncousis? They answered, that the jour- 
 nals for some reason had failed to arrive to-day, and 
 that they would keep them at the station, and not 
 send them on to the Abbey, until further orders." 
 
 "And so you will bury the brute!" said Valery. 
 "If I had my way, I'd throw his little yellow car- 
 cass into a hole with a lot of quicklime, the more the 
 better." 
 
 "I will do what I can," said Quentin. He tried to 
 think. He found it difficult to collect his thoughts. 
 How should he proceed? When should he start — 
 where should he 
 
 The door burst open. It was Madame. 
 
 : ' Valery, have you heard the news? " Madame was 
 crying, and the tears made little roads down her 
 cheeks, and great inroads upon her complexion. 
 
 "Yes, I've heard," answered Valery gloomily.
 
 416 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "Eldon hasn't come, " said Mamasha. "I wonder 
 if he will give me up for that. I can't imagine it. I 
 am no relative to Bruno, that ame damnee ! At least, 
 he was only my sister's child, and " 
 
 "If Eldon doesn't give you up for something else, 
 Mamasha, he won't for this," said Valery. 
 
 " What do you mean, Valery ? " Madame turned 
 all colors. 
 
 " You know what I mean. I've lodged a complaint 
 before the juge de paix. You'll excuse our talking 
 family matters, Quentin " 
 
 "I'll go away," said Quentin, looking much dis- 
 tressed. " I had better go away — I have much to see 
 to " 
 
 " If you are going after that malefactor, Mr. Quen- 
 tin," began Madame, "if you condone that crime 
 enorme " 
 
 "I am going, at Mr. Valery 's request, to take 
 charge of the body and bury it — — " He turned to 
 Valery. "Where? " he said. "I know not where." 
 
 " You need not think of bringing him to the Abbey, 
 Mr. Quentin. I will not have him lie beside my dear 
 General, and my little Allaire " 
 
 " You're right for the first time in your life, Mama- 
 sha," said Valery, "only where else but there? " 
 
 "Where, then? " asked Quentin, in his turn, facing 
 Madame. " Has his wife no voice in the matter? " 
 
 " She won't know anything about it," said Madame, 
 who, for once, agreed with her son-in-law. 
 
 "As you say," said Quentin, "certainly; but she 
 may hold me accountable later." 
 
 " She can't, " said Valery. " I am going to take her 
 to Africa to-morrow." 
 
 "To Africa!" gasped Quentin.
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 417 
 
 "Yes. She and Gartha and I. She told me to 
 tell you that you could have the Abbey if you wish it, 
 Mamasha." 
 
 "It will be the best place to go," said Madame. 
 " I should not dare to face them all in England just at 
 present. Please, dear Valery, and you, Mr. Quen- 
 tin, when any one asks you what the relationship was 
 between me and Bruno, say a very distant one." 
 
 "Every one knows that he was your son-in-law," 
 said Valery. 
 
 " Hum ! " said Madame, looking down and tapping 
 her foot on the floor. 
 
 "And most people know that you married your 
 daughter to him against her will." 
 
 " Oh, no, Valery, dear; Alixe was perfectly willing." 
 
 " Yes, because you told her that poor Bruno had no 
 money, and that only in that way could she share her 
 fortune with him. See how he has squandered it." 
 
 "Yes, it was an unsuccessful experiment, I own. 
 But later, she may be able to feel un grand bien s'en- 
 suivit de tant de maux." 
 
 "And what are you going to do, Mr. Quentin? " 
 Madame had not seen herself since her tears had 
 dried, or she could not have so calmly faced her some- 
 time love. 
 
 "I am going to obey Valery 's orders," said Quen- 
 tin, " and then — I don't know." A blank wall loomed 
 up before Quentin. 
 
 " We've got your young nephew down at the Abbey, 
 Quentin. Do you mind if we take him along with 
 us? It's a great thing for Gartha." 
 
 "Jan at the Abbey? How did he get there? " 
 
 Valery explained, and Quentin acceded to Valery 's 
 request only too gladly. Jan's going with Valery 
 27
 
 418 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 and his charges would be a bond, and Quentin deter- 
 mined to write to his nephew much more often than 
 he had been in the habit of doing. The question was, 
 would the lad reply? Boys are so careless — he must 
 write him a stern letter — give him a large allowance, 
 perhaps — but no — that was not the right way to win 
 a lad's 
 
 "You will come, dear friend? " 
 
 It was Madame's voice. 
 
 " Come? Come to what? " 
 
 Quentin had been brought back to the realities of 
 life by Madame's sweet voice. 
 
 " Why, to the Abbey. I expect Eldon to-day, and 
 after our marriage, I think we had better go there for 
 a while. I shall go home at once and write to the 
 Baron and Baroness " 
 
 " The Baron is sitting right down here in front of 
 Maxim's," said Valery, "I saw him as I came along." 
 
 "You can't expect me to go down to Maxim's and 
 say, ' Baron, will you come to the Abbey for a visit? ' 
 I will write to her, and to the Jenkins girls, and Mary 
 Thorndike, and Lady Barnes, and Ada Spencer, and 
 — you will come, too, dear friend? " 
 
 "I — I — hardly know. I must first attend to — 
 to " 
 
 Quentin stopped short. His feelings revolted 
 against going to the Abbey just after the dreadful 
 task that he had set himself to perform. And then, 
 too, why should he go when the charm would be 
 removed?
 
 XLVL 
 
 Valert's man was packing his belongings, but the 
 day was not long enough for all that he had to do. 
 He sent constant telegrams to Alixe, telling her how 
 matters were progressing, and on the third day he 
 arrived a{ the Abbey. There he slept one night, and 
 the following day saw the party of four on its way to 
 Africa. 
 
 Valery and Quentin had decided that it would 
 not do to keep Alixe in ignorance of St. Aubin's 
 death. 
 
 " But I shan't tell her," said Valery, " until the little 
 beast — I mean, Bruno — is buried, for she would think 
 it proper to appear at the funeral, and then the whole 
 thing would come out. Of course the world knows 
 all the details, or will ; but if we can keep it from 
 Alixe for a while, that is all that I hope for." 
 
 Alixe had said to Valery, several times, that it was 
 strange that she had not heard from Bruno. He had 
 never been so long without writing. She feared that 
 she had been too harsh with him, etc., etc. 
 
 Valery parried the questions as best he could until 
 they were on board the steamer, sailing for Cape 
 Town. Alixe had been confined to her cabin for sev- 
 eral days with a racking headache. That was not the 
 time to tell her, and Valery, biding his time, waited 
 until one bright morning in the tropics. She was sit- 
 ting on deck, gazing with all the ardor of a romantic
 
 420 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 girl at the trade-wind clouds, and picturing many 
 charming scenes to her own satisfaction. 
 
 "See, Yalery," she said, "there is the Archbishop. 
 Do you not see his robes? See how he holds out his 
 arms to me, as if he were begging me to return and 
 take the vows that I almost promised him I would 
 take. Ah ! had I but seen him before I left home." 
 
 " That was not possible, Alixe, " said Valery. " The 
 physicians would allow no one to see him. You con- 
 tributed to his recovery by remaining away. The ex- 
 citement would have been too much for him." 
 
 " And there is the Abbey. Do you see it, Yalery ? " 
 Yalery looked toward the white spot against the 
 blue on which the eyes of Alixe were fixed. 
 
 "It certainly does look like the ruins," said he, 
 " that is, to us. There is a horse-dealer over there, 
 who, I suppose, would insist that it looks like a drove 
 of animals, and that publisher would say that it looks 
 like a pile of books. Some Parisian would declare 
 that it was the exact counterpart of the Arc de l'Etoile. 
 So it goes. One always sees that of which he is 
 thinking, in the trade-wind clouds." 
 
 Alixe sat, still gazing at what to her seemed an ex- 
 act representation of the Abbey. Finally she turned, 
 and spoke as if with difficulty. It was as if the ques- 
 tion must be asked and answered before she could 
 have peace of mind. 
 
 " Has Robert Halle ever returned, Yalery? " 
 "No," said Yalery. "I hear that they have proof 
 positive that it was he who attacked the Archbishop." 
 Alixe was silent. Yalery had expected a violent dis- 
 claimer. " I am surprised at you, Alixe ! I thought 
 that you were more loyal to Halle ! " Alixe was still 
 silent. "It seems terrible to think that one who has
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 421 
 
 lived with us as a boy and man could conceive such a 
 dreadful act and try to carry it out." Still Alixe did 
 not answer. She was thinking, as she had almost 
 every moment since it had occurred, of that dreadful 
 look which Halle had given her, of his stretching out 
 his dark, bony hands, of the step which he took to- 
 ward her. The thought brought upon her almost a 
 physical sickness. To think of it even was terrifying, 
 and Valery's words brought the scene before her so 
 vividly, that scene which she was endeavoring so des- 
 perately to forget, that she turned her face and hid it 
 in her hands. 
 
 "Don't speak of him again, Yalery," she said. 
 " Do not ! I cannot bear it. " 
 
 " You brought it upon yourself , Alixe. " 
 
 "I — I — wanted to know, certainly. I thought I 
 could " 
 
 Valery stood looking at her in amazement. Her 
 shoulders were shaking in a nervous tremor. Her 
 voice, when she spoke, was faint. 
 
 " You never told me anything to make me think that 
 you did not wish him spoken of, Alixe. The morn- 
 ing that I came to the Abbey post haste from Paris, 
 you only said " 
 
 "Valery, do not! I tell you I cannot bear it." 
 
 Valery kept silent for a space. He was puzzled. 
 Then he repeated: "You asked me, Alixe." 
 
 "Yes, I asked you. It was my fault. I thought 
 myself stronger. What of Bruno? I have not heard 
 from Bruno lately." 
 
 " Did — do you and he keep up such a violent corre- 
 spondence? " asked Valery. 
 
 " N — no. " Alixe smiled faintly. " But I generally 
 know where he is. I know that I must have angered
 
 422 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 him greatly. Not with the talk of my going into a 
 convent, but in other ways. He was never silent so 
 long before. I suppose, when we return, he will come 
 back to the Abbey. Do you think so? " 
 
 " I hardly know," said Valery. " How Gartha has 
 improved! Do you notice it, Alixe? " 
 
 "Dear little soul!" said Alixe. "Gartha is my 
 mainstay. If anything serious should happen to 
 Gartha — " Alixe's eyes were full of tears. "Of what 
 are you thinking? " 
 
 Valery was looking at her fixedly. 
 
 " Alixe, I have some bad news for you. " 
 
 Alixe sat upright. "Not Gartha? " she said. 
 
 "Gartha! Do you suppose that I should have 
 stood gossiping here about Halle, if anything had 
 happened to Gartha? There she is, leaning over the 
 rail with Jan. No, Alixe, it is about some one else. 
 You asked me about Bruno. You wish to know? " 
 
 The cheek of Alixe had regained its color. It was 
 plain to Valery that Bruno had never been to Alixe 
 what Gartha was at that moment. 
 
 " Certainly I wish to know. What is it? " 
 
 "Alixe, what would you say if I told you that 
 Bruno is very ill? " 
 
 "And you brought me away from France! Oh! 
 Valery, I who should be there. to nurse him. That is 
 my duty. What is the nearest port? How soon can I 
 get there? How far is it? I have money, have I not? 
 Enough to persuade them to put into the nearest 
 port?" 
 
 " What would you say if I told you that Bruno is 
 dead, Alixe? " 
 
 " Dead ! How could you get the news ! How could 
 you — Do you mean to saj r — Valery ! Valery ! Do you
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 423 
 
 mean to say that you knew this before we left the Ab- 
 bey, and never told me? " 
 
 "Yes, Alixe, I mean to say that very thing." 
 "Oh, Valery! How heartless ! How cruel! I who 
 should have been the first to fly to his bedside, I 
 who should have been with him when he died. For 
 Bruno loved me — in his way — yes, in his way — " 
 The tears were coursing down her face. She turned 
 toward the rail, that the inquisitive promenaders 
 might not notice her distress. Valery lowered the 
 umbrella, so that no one could see the evidence of her 
 grief. 
 
 " I did not think it of you, Valery. Poor Bruno ! 
 He once told me that he could not die unless I closed 
 his eyes. I was hard upon him, I fear ; but I did not 
 love him as I should have done. It was I who made 
 him cross sometimes, and captious. An unloving 
 wife!— but," — she turned toward Valery, her eyes 
 raining floods of tears, — "I did not love him. I 
 never should have allowed myself to be persuaded 
 to marry him, never. I was not old enough to 
 
 judge— I " 
 
 " The trail of Mamasha ! " said Valery. " Mamasha 
 has spoiled several dozens of horns, and I can't see 
 that she has made any spoons to speak of, unless she 
 hooked Eldon at the last. I don't want to spoil her 
 little game, so I never let Eldon into the skeleton 
 
 closet at the Abbey. If I had " 
 
 "Don't speak so," said Alixe, still sobbing. "My 
 mother has been a disappointed woman all her life. 
 She never succeeded quite in what she undertook. I 
 
 disappointed her " 
 
 "Faith, then," said Valery, "you did your best not 
 to, when you married the old duke "
 
 424 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 " He was very kind to me. He might still have 
 been kind as my husband. The poor duke did not 
 realize anything from his marriage with me. He 
 died and left me a rich woman. I should be grateful 
 and " 
 
 " If Mamasha had planned it, and had had the tak- 
 ing of him off, it couldn't have been better done." 
 Alixe smiled faintly through her tears. She was ac- 
 customed to Valery. 
 
 " Tell me the rest. Where was Bruno? " 
 
 "It was a sudden attack." Valery was determined 
 not to tell her any of the circumstances. " It was just 
 as he was going to take the steamer. He did not 
 miss you, Alixe. It was all over in a moment." 
 
 "Thank God for that! And — and — were you at 
 the — the funeral, Valery? " 
 
 "God forbid!" he ejaculated fervently. "I — I — 
 mean " 
 
 Alixe was staring at him in surprise. " I — I — mean 
 I — I— couldn't get there. I — I had so much, you — 
 you — know, to do, and I — I " 
 
 "Valery, what does all this stammering mean? 
 Tell me at once ! " Alixe was sitting upright now. 
 " If you, the only person who could attend to it, turned 
 your back on Bruno, who was there to see that the 
 poor fellow was buried as befitted his position? 
 Who was there to " 
 
 " Quentin attended to it," said Valery humbly. 
 
 A faint flush came to the cheek of Alixe. 
 
 " Mr. Quentin ! And what had he to do with it, 
 when you, my nearest relative — it is strange what a 
 small family we have, Valery, how few there are to 
 take any interest. Had the Archbishop not been so 
 ill, had Halle "
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 425 
 
 " The Archbishop wouldn't have touched him with 
 the tongs " 
 
 " Valery ! Valery ! He is dead. Bruno is dead ! 
 Do not speak so of him." 
 
 " The church has nothing to do with suicides, Alixe, 
 as you know well, " blurted out Yalery . He had hard- 
 ly spoken before he could have bitten his tongue for 
 his hastiness. 
 
 " Suicide ! Suicide ! Do you mean to tell me that 
 Bruno killed himself? " 
 
 "Did — did — I say that?" Valery perceived at 
 once the mischief that he had done all in a moment, 
 and the far-reaching effect of it. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! You said suicide ! Oh, Yalery, Val- 
 ery ! That Bruno should kill himself, and all because 
 I could not love him. All because I could not and 
 never have lived with him as his wife should do. 
 Oh, dear, dear God! What shall I do? What shall 
 I do? To have this sin on my conscience. This 
 dreadful, dreadful sin. Can a whole life of penance 
 atone? " 
 
 " Now don't ask any more ; just enjoy yourself while 
 you may." 
 
 "Enjoy myself! And my mother? " 
 
 " I suppose she went to the Abbey ; I know Eldon 
 came over to Paris on the third." 
 
 " The very day you heard the news? " 
 
 "Yes, Mamasha came to see me about it in the 
 morning. She was bathed in tears. Eldon arrived 
 at about one o'clock, and she wiped her weeping 
 eyes, as the Salvation Army used to sing to us out at 
 the Rand, put on a little more rouge, got her special 
 dispensation from the Pope, and her social dispensa- 
 tions from the world, the flesh, and the devil, espe-
 
 426 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 cially the latter — but I believe Eldon had attended 
 to all that beforehand, and was married by 4 p.m. 
 There's nothing money can't do, Alixe, and that you'll 
 find out when you have given it all to the church, and 
 haven't any more to conjure with." 
 
 "It cannot save a soul," said Alixe. "Oh, poor 
 Bruno ! Poor Bruno ! " 
 
 Alixe arose and staggered along the deck to her 
 own cabin. Valery followed, penitent and downcast. 
 When she reached the cabin, which was on the upper 
 deck, she went in and closed the door very decidedly 
 in Yalery's face. He was haunted all night by the 
 look in those eyes which had gazed at him, for the 
 first time since he had known her, with reproach 
 amounting almost to anger. 
 
 Valery did not see Alixe for several days. She kept 
 herself closely locked within her cabin. Gartha con- 
 fided to Jan the cause of this behavior on Alixe's part. 
 "Valery says that my Uncle Bruno is dead. You 
 know I always hated my Uncle Bruno— — " 
 
 " There is a proverb that says, ' Say nothing but 
 good of the dead,' " said Jan MacDonald. 
 
 " Nom de Dieu ! Je le crois bien ! Then we should 
 never be able to speak of my Uncle Bruno again. 
 The worst of it is, he killed himself, une blessure 
 mortelle, 30U must know. I think it was because his 
 chemicals esploded and nearly killed me. He was 
 pobaly afraid that your uncle, to whom I am promis, 
 you know, would go after him and give him 
 what Harry Ware used to call ' peticlar fits, ' so he 
 killed himself." 
 
 "Does the Duchesse know that he killed himself? " 
 
 "Yes," said Gartha, "and the most amusing thing 
 »)f all is, that she thinks he killed himself for love of 

 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 427 
 
 her. Quelle betise ! John Quentin himself buried him 
 because he was my uncle. It was kind of John Quen- 
 tin. He knows how I hated my Uncle Bruno. L'his- 
 toire est extremement interessante, depuis le com- 
 mencement jusqu'a la fin." 
 
 "Don't, Gartha." Jan was shocked at this free- 
 spoken young woman. "You must not speak so. 
 Why don't you go and see if you can comfort your 
 aunt a little? " 
 
 Gartha, in accordance with this suggestion, crept 
 to the cabin door, and tried the lock. It would not 
 open. 
 
 "Who is there? " called Alixe faintly. 
 
 " C'est moi, chere tante," called Gartha, loud enough 
 for a young commis voyageur who was going out to 
 Cape Town to hear. " Your own little Gartha. Can 
 I do something for you, cherie? Something to soften 
 this great and overwhelming esperience? " 
 
 The door was opened a little way. Gartha had her 
 head over her shoulder to see if her listener had taken 
 in her last words and their gentle purport. She had 
 the great satisfaction to find that he was all eyes and 
 probably all ears. She wished that Alixe had not 
 responded quite so quickly as the tail of her eye 
 showed her that she had. But her head was turned 
 toward the attentive stranger, and there was time for 
 one effective sentence. 
 
 "Do not weep, dear aunt," she said in her most 
 heavenly tone, the corner of her eye still taking in the 
 travelling salesman. "My dear uncle, ame blanche 
 that he was, has gone to that land where we shall 
 meet him, too, some day. He is looking down and 
 watching over us now, and pobaly blessing us; and 
 every tear we sheds makes his kind heart beat the
 
 428 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 faster, every sigh we heaves is to him an embarrass 
 des richesses. Spend your tears on the little ones 
 that you have lost, but not on my sainted Uncle 
 Bruno, the Comte de St. Aubin ! " At these final 
 words, the commis voyageur opened his eyes very 
 wide ; at which sign of interest Gartha could not re- 
 sist adding : " Chere Duchesse di Brazzia, sans la 
 religion nous serious pires que les barbares ! " and 
 disappeared within the door. 
 
 Alixe, whose face had been buried within the folds 
 of her cloak, and who had heard nothing of Gartha' s 
 play-acting, opened her arms to the child and held her 
 close, so close that Gartha feared that she should 
 smother. She managed to keep her eye on the win- 
 dow, however, and was satisfied to see that the young 
 man was gazing at the closed door through which she 
 had passed, open-mouthed. 
 
 From this time forth Valery could see that there 
 was a great struggle going on in the mind of Alixe. 
 She sat often lost in deep fits of abstraction. She 
 did not speak when spoken to, and seemed to be 
 planning a future with which no one could interfere. 
 He chuckled quietly in silent communion with him- 
 self. "She's a widow now, sure enough. A widow 
 firm and fast. She has never been a wife. She is 
 thinking of Quentin. I can see that she wants to 
 hasten home. There must be something in all this. 
 When I mention his name she winces and shivers, 
 and looks appealingly at me, perfectly oblivious all 
 the time of what she is doing."
 
 XLvn. 
 
 Quenttn accepted Lady Eldon's invitation, and went 
 down to the Abbey during the last days of November. 
 Paris was bright and sunny, but the country was bare 
 and chill. There was no one to meet him at the little 
 station, and he walked over the road to the Abbey as 
 he had done before. The scene was changed past be- 
 lief. The autumn rains had wetted the ground, the 
 fields were bare and brown, the trees were almost 
 stripped of foliage, and there were masses of dingy, 
 yellow leaves in the gutters by the roadside. As he 
 strode onward he could not believe it the same road 
 < >ver which a little more than a year ago he had passed, 
 a stranger, and found something awaiting him of which 
 he had not dreamed. He cast a glance upward to- 
 ward the hill. The great sentinels of the forest stood 
 as of old, bare and sturdy. They waved their ragged 
 branches in the gusts of wind that swept through 
 them, and seemed to call down the slope: "Go back! 
 Go back ! She is not here ! She is not here ! " His 
 glance scanned the distant hilltop, and he thought 
 that he could single out the very tree which he had 
 climbed to scan the country the first morning after 
 his arrival at the Abbey, and he made up his mind 
 that during this visit he would go and look again 
 upon the white stone which bore the name of Allaire, 
 because she was the sister of Alixe, and because Alixe 
 had placed it in the glade. He wondered quizzically
 
 430 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 if Madame occupied her time now in " digging the 
 moss out of the title," as Yalery had said. He deter- 
 mined to mount the path and see for himself on some 
 early day. Arrived at the gate, it was opened by a 
 new, stiff English butler, whom Quentin followed 
 across the terrace. He glanced sidewise in the direc- 
 tion of the chalet; but there was no one sitting at the 
 long table, there were no lights, no gay voices. A 
 slight flurry of snow had appeared, and was whirling 
 around his head. The salon doors were closed. The 
 butler ushered him into a little room upon the left, 
 and there he waited in the dark until the man could 
 light a lamp and announce his arrival. There was 
 a faint glow from the fireplace, where a log was 
 smouldering, and Quentin stood with his feet upon 
 the fender until the butler came with a lamp, and 
 told him that he would announce his coming to Lady 
 Eldon. It was not long before there was a gentle 
 rustling of skirts, and my lady came in. Madame 
 was rather changed, grown a little stouter and a 
 little redder in the face, and a great deal more effu- 
 sive. 
 
 She came bustling toward him, and held out her 
 hands across a chasm of forgetfulness. " You dear ! " 
 she said, taking Quentin's own. His thoughts in- 
 stantly reverted to the first evening in the chalet, and 
 he laughingly said : 
 
 "Mamasha, Mamasha, how do you do? How are 
 you all, Mamasha? " shaking her hands up and down 
 the while, embarrassed somewhat now as then. 
 
 "You are a godsend," said my lady, "a perfect 
 godsend ! Eldon has a crick in his back and groans 
 about no French house being fit for a human being 
 to live in. It is a draughty place in winter "
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 431 
 
 "It isn't winter yet," said Quentin. 
 
 " It lias been abnormally cold. We can hardly keep 
 warm. I was never so cold at the Towers when I stayed 
 there. It is true, as Eldon says, they don't know any- 
 thing over here about being comfortable ; but, of course, 
 no one ever expected to stay here in winter. Come, 
 sit down here. Sellers, some more wood. Do make 
 it warm. See that Mr. Quentin's things are put in 
 the chalet, and tell Pierre Monrouge to keep his fire 
 going. Take plenty of wood over there." 
 
 "Pierre Monrouge takes no orders from me, my 
 lady," said Sellers, bowing stiffly. 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear ! Nothing but quarrelling ! Send 
 Pierre Monrouge here, and I will tell him myself. I 
 might have known that French and English servants 
 would never agree. Les domestiques sont des gens 
 fatigants. You spoke of " 
 
 " The chalet? " said Quentin in surprise. " I thought 
 that the chalet was " 
 
 "Well, so it was," answered Lady Eldon, "but 
 Alixe had it repaired ; and though the rooms on Bru- 
 no's side are somewhat changed, yours are just as 
 they were. How strange it al^ seems ! " 
 
 Lady Eldon mused with her elbow on her knee, her 
 cheek on her hand ; upon her fingers there were some 
 very magnificent rings, which flashed in the lamp- 
 light. Lord Eldon had indeed "put butter on her 
 paws." 
 
 " You see I wear it always, " said she, sentiment- 
 ally, holding out the other hand toward Quentin, and 
 bringing into view a very handsome bracelet, set with 
 brilliant stones. " For a long time I did not know 
 who sent it. One of my loveliest presents. You 
 must have spent a fortune for it."
 
 432 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "lean never repay you," said Quentin earnestly, 
 "for what you have done for me." 
 
 Madame, as Quentin must still call her in his mind, 
 laid her hand in his and pressed it tenderly. Valery 
 had called her a cat, a little cat. She was greedy ; 
 she might have been arrested for forgery; she had 
 always repudiated every one who stood in her way ; 
 but yet she was a pleasant little cat, a soft, purring 
 little cat, and she purred contentedly as she sat there 
 with Quentin in the blaze of the renovated fire. 
 
 " I had a dreadful time to gee people to come here," 
 she confided to Quentin. " The Baroness wouldn't 
 have come a step if she hadn't been so poor. That 
 wretched little man has dissipated almost everything, 
 himself first and foremost. He still sits in front of 
 Maxim's — inside, I suppose, now, if the weather is as 
 cold as it is here, and drinks his absinthe and gallops 
 onward down the hill to paresis, while the poor little 
 Baroness hasn't a rag to her back, or wouldn't have, 
 if I hadn't given her a bundle of clothes that Alixe 
 left behind. It is really funny to see her in them. 
 She is magnificent." 
 
 So Quentin thought, an hour later, when, having 
 dressed for dinner, he found himself in the little 
 breakfast-room of a year ago. The dining-room was 
 too large and cold, Lady Eldon had said. They 
 should all have lumbago as badly as Eldon. There 
 was a goodly company assembled at the table, des- 
 pite Madame 's assurance that it had been difficult to 
 get any one to come. Mademoiselle was there, her 
 peculiarities not lessened with time; and Quentin 
 was thankful to find that he had been placed on 
 Madame 's right, three seats from the poor little 
 Weasel. M. le Maurier, whom he had met there be-
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 433 
 
 fore, was on Lady Eldon's left. "All, Napoleon 
 Third ! " some one had exclaimed when they first saw 
 him. Miss Spencer was at the Abbey, and welcomed 
 Quentin with effusion. The Baroness, and Lady 
 Barnes, and Miss Jenkins were further down the 
 table, as well as some men whom Quentin had a 
 slight recollection of having seen on his first visit ; 
 but the Count St. Aubin and the Alsatian were gone. 
 There was no Gartha, no Valery, and, what summed 
 up in two words all Quentin' s misery, no Alixe. 
 How changed everything was ! Lord Eldon did not 
 come down. Dinner was served by the pompous but- 
 ler and two English footmen, Charles standing at the 
 door looking gloomily in, and refusing to go to the 
 kitchen for a single dish. He had been superseded; 
 now let them see how they could get on by them- 
 selves. 
 
 There was a long wait between the soup and the fish, 
 and finally the message was brought in that there was 
 no fish. My lady, mistress of herself though china 
 fall, carried on her conversation with M. le Mau- 
 rier and Quentin by turns, laying her hands on one 
 of theirs alternately, with the exclamation, "You 
 dear ! " But there were two very bright spots on her 
 cheeks which art had not placed there, and Quentin 
 could see in imagination a corps of domestics leaving 
 by train on the following morning. He heard with 
 much amusement that Pierre Monrouge, who carried 
 the orders to market, had understood Sellers to say 
 that my lady wished some " poison " ; that his sister, 
 Marie Monrouge, now travelling with the Duchess, 
 had left her little dictionnaire behind; that he had 
 consulted it, and had found that " poison " stood for 
 "toxique," poison mortel. He thought that my lady 
 28
 
 434 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 had wished for something "to poison the rats, which 
 had come into the house during the cold weather. 
 He had a large parcel of it in the cuisine, plenty for 
 all the rats in the house, and Pierre Monrouge looked 
 meaningly at the English butler. 
 
 "He knew perfectly well what I wanted," Madame 
 confided to Quentin. " They make me all the trouble 
 they can, just because we brought those men from the 
 Towers. The men themselves positively hate it. 
 They consider it a broken-down old place compared 
 with Eldon Towers, and so it is ; they cannot speak 
 the language, they are not accustomed to petty 
 French ways, and there is a constant disturbance. 
 They wilfully misunderstand me and each other. The 
 wonder is that we get anything to eat at all." 
 
 Quentin laughed at Madame's distress as she 
 poured out her tale after dinner in the salon. 
 
 "And now I must go and talk with Monsieur le 
 Maurier. He is waiting for me," she said. "He only 
 came for the evening, and as he came at my request, 
 I must give him a little of my time." 
 
 "What can he have to say? " said Quentin to him- 
 self. This question was answered, almost as if he had 
 spoken aloud, by Miss Spencer, who formerly had 
 spent all her time in enlightening Quentin as to the 
 mental attitude of every one at the Abbey. 
 
 " Le Maurier has come to tell her all about Bruno," 
 she said in a low tone. " You know he had suspected 
 him for a long time, and when Mamasha thought that 
 she was the bait, it was Bruno and Halle whom he 
 was tracking. You have heard, I suppose, that he is 
 an agent of the secret police." 
 
 "No, I didn't know it," said Quentin. "I thought 
 he was the editor of a paper. "
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 435 
 
 "I suppose a man can be both in France; at all 
 events, a man is never what he pretends to be over 
 here — or, for that matter, anywhere else. Did you 
 ever see things go as they do now that Mamasha is 
 My Lady ? No one minds her now that Alixe is not 
 here to make them; not one single word she says. 
 The consequence is we sometimes go without poulet 
 for breakfast, or cheese, or salad, as the case may be, 
 or without fish, as to-night. Eeally, I cannot stand it. 
 I am getting so run down that I shall have to go 
 home to recuperate. I intended to ask you to go up 
 the hill and see how forgetful Mamasha is becoming 
 in her old age " 
 
 "I hadn't noticed that Lady Eldon is becoming 
 forgetful," said Quentin loyally. 
 
 " Wait till you see the tombstone. The title is en- 
 tirely obscured by moss " 
 
 "She has another title now," smiled Quentin. 
 " She cannot use two, and after all, Miss Spencer, 
 we cannot nurse our griefs forever." 
 
 " That has a double application. I think you are 
 very sensible. Do you know, Mr. Quentin, that 
 Alixe has fully decided upon a conventual life? " 
 
 "No, I don't know," said Quentin quickly. 
 
 "No, you don't know; but it is true. The Arch- 
 bishop says that she has given her word ; and when 
 Alixe gives her word, it is fixed as the laws of the 
 Medes. Do you ever hear from them? Don't look so 
 awfully down. There are as good fish in the sea as 
 ever were caught, though we can't get them for dinner !" 
 
 "I have had one letter from Valery," said Quentin, 
 answering Miss Spencer's question and ignoring her 
 comments. " But my young nephew is with them ; he 
 writes me semi-occasionally . "
 
 436 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "When lie wants money, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes," said Quentin. "I used to do the same." 
 
 " The boy the father of the man, and all that sort 
 of thing. Gracious, how cold it is ! I feel as if one 
 of Gartha's revenants was passing behind my back. 
 I wonder what Mamasha and le Maurier are talking 
 about so long. I suppose you would like to say she 
 will probably tell me if she wants me to know, only 
 you are too polite." 
 
 "That might be said to convey the gist of my 
 thoughts." Quentin laughed and looked toward 
 Lady Eldon. He saw that she laid her hand on the 
 little man's arm, probably with a "You dear!" and 
 accompanied him to the door of the salon with a few 
 last low words. As the great half of the door was 
 opened, swift gusts of air blew in. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " groaned Lady Barnes, " why can't that 
 common little man go out the other way ? He can get 
 through the dining-room just as well." 
 
 Le Maurier had paid Lady Eldon a very effusive 
 farewell. 
 
 " That is what in the Land of the Free you call a 
 put-up job," said Miss Spencer. "He isn't going 
 home at all. There is no train to-night. I really 
 wonder what all this pretence means ! " 
 
 Here Mademoiselle struck a few notes on tho grand 
 piano, shivered, squealed, withdrew her cold, red, lit- 
 tle claws, then struck the keys again, and my lady's 
 sweet middle-aged voice, with a little strain in it, 
 pealed forth in the mad song from " Lucia. " Quentin 
 was taken back in a flash to that evening a year ago, 
 in the summer, when Alixe had forbidden the song to 
 be sung in her presence. He thought again, as he 
 had a hundred times, of the ruin, of his following her
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 43? 
 
 there, of what she had said, of what she had allowed 
 — that handclasp which was to last hiin through 
 eternity — and in one of my lady's most shrill rou- 
 lades he crept out quietly and closed the door. 
 The night was cold and blustery, but Quentin's 
 blood was young, and he ran down the stone steps, 
 through the tunnel, which was now entwined only with 
 branches denuded of leaves. He could see the sky 
 overhead, the cold stars glinting between the inter- 
 stices of the leafless growth, and the winter clouds 
 skurrying across the darkness, but he ran on and 
 entered the ruin. Here he was enclosed and de- 
 fended from the blasts which blew over the garden 
 and round the chateau. He sought the bent tree. 
 The limb where she had sat was covered with a fine 
 little layer of snow. He brushed it aside, and 
 pressed his lips to the place where her hand had 
 rested. A sound caused him to turn. Quentin for a 
 moment was struck with a horror that was new to 
 him. He did not believe in ghosts, in the common 
 acceptation of the term, and yet for a moment he 
 thought that he had penetrated the mystery of the 
 Abbey. He turned to see dark forms, five of them, 
 crossing the interior space of the ruin. From each 
 hand there depended a light. The procession was dec- 
 orous and quiet. Two of the men carried a some- 
 thing between them. It seemed to be light in weight. 
 The others walked two ahead and one behind. As 
 the procession reached the centre space, the burden 
 was rested upon one of the old stone seats, the seat 
 near where Madame used to pour tea for her guests 
 on midsummer afternoons. Quentin stood transfixed 
 in the dark corner where he had entrenched himself, 
 and waited. A low laugh broke the stillness of the
 
 438 THE AECHBISHOP A^D THE LADY 
 
 lonely interior. It jarred upon liis nerves, it seemed 
 to be out of place there. And then, in the light of the 
 lantern, he saw a face that he knew; it was the face 
 of le Maurier, who had bidden Lady Eldon good-night 
 but a short time before. The five figures stamped 
 their feet on the ground — they clapped their hands to 
 their ears, but all was done with a due observance of 
 the proprieties. "Take him up again, mes garcons," 
 said the voice of le Maurier ; " we know at least, that he 
 skulks no more about the earth, seeking whom he may 
 kill. When you leave the Abbey, turn to the left. 
 Go through the flower garden, the Count St. Aubin's 
 rooms, my lady said. Extinguish your lanterns. 
 Once outside, we shall have light enough." The men 
 filed out of the archway. Quent'in saw that one of 
 the lanterns had been left upon the ground. No 
 sooner had the mysterious party disappeared than he 
 went swiftly toward the lantern, took it up from the 
 ground, blew out the light, and retreated to his 
 former vantage point. He had barely regained his 
 place when he heard swift footsteps. Some one en- 
 tered the ruin. A match was scratched. The man 
 was evidently looking for the lantern carelessly left 
 behind. His search being unsuccessful, he turned 
 back again. 
 
 When the sound of footsteps had died away along 
 the garden path, Quentin passed toward the outer 
 opening through which le Maurier and his men had 
 come, and when once well outside the wall, he lighted 
 his lantern. Here he was screened from any view of 
 the chalet or the chateau itself. Some unexplained 
 suspicion led him at once to the passage which 
 he remembered, the passage into which Gartha had 
 T>enetra±Ad one day. Here at its mouth he found a 

 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 439 
 
 disturbed state of affairs. Most of the entrance wall 
 had been knocked away, and now that the grass and 
 summer growth had died down, he saw that the tun- 
 nel was marked on the surface of the ground by a 
 slight ridge. He climbed the terrace, and walked 
 along this ridge. He stumbled and nearly fell into a 
 hole, and started back just in time. This made him 
 the more cautious, and it was as well, for he found 
 that these excavations were to be seen every little 
 way. At one about three hundred feet from the open- 
 ing he discovered a very manifest disturbance of the 
 earth. He lowered his lantern, and found an excava- 
 tion deeper than the rest. 
 
 Quentin set his lantern among the stubble, and 
 lowered himself into the hole. His foot struck some- 
 thing as it met the ground. The hole was large 
 enough for him to stoop. This he did, and felt for 
 and raised in his hand the thing against which his 
 foot had struck. He brought it out to the light of 
 the lantern, and examined it there. It was the san- 
 dal of a priest, mildewed, and giving forth the odors 
 of the charnel house.
 
 XLYin. 
 
 They had been travelling for a year, Valery and 
 Alixe, as ever good friends. Jan and Gartha were 
 constantly falling out with each other, devoted at one 
 moment, at the next silence marking their compan- 
 ionship. 
 
 These quarrels caused Yalery many hilarious mo- 
 ments, and Alixe too smiled at times. Still she had 
 taken on a very serious cast of countenance. At the 
 first stopping place where such things were procur- 
 able, she had deepened the mourning which she had 
 worn for Virginia Danielli to the most sombre crepe 
 of widowhood, and, with the enveloping veil, she went 
 about simply a personality among them, her thought 
 and spirit far away. " She's only wearing that for 
 propriety's sake," said Yalery to Gartha, to whom he 
 unburdened his mind more than was proper. " She 
 will cheer up after a while and be like other people." 
 
 Once, at Cairo, where their travels had led them, 
 when Valery was buying some bright stuffs and amu- 
 lets for Gartha, who, after each conflict between her- 
 self and Jan, loved to array herself in them in the 
 endeavor to redazzle him, Valery brought to Alixe a 
 strange Egyptian chain and threw it over her head. 
 
 "Wear this, Alixe," he said, "as a reminder of this 
 trip of ours." 
 
 Alixe hastily removed the chain. 
 
 "No, Valery," she said, "do not give me such
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 441 
 
 things. Let me give it to Gartha. She loves every- 
 thing that is bright and pretty. As for me, I shall 
 never wear anything but the deepest black forever 
 more." 
 
 "What nonsense, Alixe! Why you are not yet 
 twenty-two. Do you mean to tell me that you have 
 finished with life? Bruno is gone past recall. Try 
 to look upon the future differently. I had hoped 
 that you were beginning to. You have a long life 
 before you— — " 
 
 "A long life of expiation," said Alixe solemnly. 
 
 Valery gasped, " Expiation ! What do you mean, 
 Alixe?" 
 
 "What I say, Valery. Expiation! Expiation! 
 Bruno took his life for me. I must expiate that until 
 my dying breath. I have written to my dear Arch- 
 bishop. I have told him that I am strong and well, 
 and ready to take up my work in the sisterhood; to 
 take the vows. In short, to do that which I intended 
 to do when I came to the Abbey to nurse Gartha." 
 
 There was a howl from a dark corner of the room. 
 Gartha had slipped in unobserved. 
 
 " You shall not ! You shall not ! Mon Dieu ! you 
 shall not," raged and screamed Gartha. "I know all 
 about why my Uncle Bruno killed himself. Juge pour 
 vous-meme. I know the whole thing. You shall not 
 leave me and go into a convent, not for forty dead 
 Uncle Brunos. He " 
 
 " Gartha ! Stop ! " shouted Valery in a voice of 
 thunder, but Gartha, though she had never heard this 
 tone from her father before, was not to be hindered. 
 Her words poured forth like a cloud-burst upon the 
 mountains. 
 
 " He was ame damnee. I saw it in Mamasha's letter
 
 442 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 to Valery. He did not kill himself neither for you, 
 neither for me. Ni l'un ni l'autre. I was con-con- 
 ceited to think he did. It was for neither you, 
 neither me. It was " 
 
 "Gartha! Stop!" 
 
 " It was because he had blowed up the steamer with 
 Virginia Danielli on board, and he knew it would all 
 come out, and he was afraid to face " 
 
 " There ! See what you have done ! " said Valery. 
 "You have killed her!" 
 
 He stooped over the unconscious form of Alixe, 
 which had fallen upon the floor. "Call somebody 
 quickly, if you can stop that confounded tongue of 
 yours long enough to change its tune. Alixe ! Alixe ! 
 Do you hear me? Gartha, call some one." 
 
 They travelled here and there for eight months 
 more, Alixe the shadow of her former self, and then 
 when nearly two years had passed since the death of 
 St. Aubin, they turned their steps toward home. 
 
 Jan MacDonald had been the weary recipient of 
 long and constant epistles from his uncle; Gartha, of 
 an occasional one. Jan, forgetful and unmindful of 
 the uncle who was giving him an experience which is 
 a rare one for a lad of his vears, wrote but seldom. 
 
 "Another of Uncle Jack's blowing ups," said Jan to 
 Gartha one day. " He never worried over me so when 
 I was in Scotland. I can't see why he wants to know so 
 much about me now. Just listen to this, will you? " 
 
 "Deae Jan: 
 
 " You never tell me anything about the kind friends 
 with whom you are travelling. You say, ' I went to 
 see the great piremid, ' ' I saw the Spynx ' (mark the 
 spelling) , ' I rode a Donkey at cairo ' (please remark
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 443 
 
 the capitals) , ' I went up to the second cataract in Mr. 
 Valery's danabeya,' but you never say with whom 
 you went or how they are. I cannot understand how 
 a young lad like you can be so conceited as to think 
 that he is the only person in the world, and his move- 
 ments the only ones to be chronicled. I am ashamed 
 of you for the first time. Now sit down, and see if 
 you can talk of any one but yourself, and tell me all 
 that you do; who goes with you; the health of every 
 one in the party, etc., and oblige your affectionate 
 
 "Uncle Jack." 
 
 " Didn't he give me particular rats? " said Jan. 
 
 " I should think you would understand the raison 
 d'etre of that letter," said Gartha, nose in air; "he 
 wishes to hear about me, and you tell him only about 
 yourself." 
 
 " Do you think it's that? " Jan's face clouded over. 
 
 'You'd better sit right down and tell him all he 
 wants to know, or he may cease your allowance," re- 
 turned Gartha. " Voila ! I will give you some of my 
 stamped paper that came out from Paris. Now sit 
 down and begin." 
 
 The result was as follows : 
 
 " Dere Uncle i am not very good at writin letters, 
 and you neednt give me so much rats every time be- 
 cause i havnt mentioned the person you are intrested 
 in gartha is puffecly well gartha went to the piremids 
 with me we both rode donkeys and Mr. valery said 
 that gartha was the bulliest rider of the lot but i 
 think that was all guff he gives us lots of larries 
 gatha believes em i dont gartha went to the Nile in 
 the darby, and when she got to the first catrac she 
 cried and said she should never see John Quentin 
 again and her farther said dont be a fool and when 
 one of the arabins wanted to pull her upon the piry-
 
 444 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 mids she cried because she said he nerely pulled her 
 arms out of her sokits and when he asked for a thing 
 they call backshish out here and said she should 
 never come down lessn she give it to him, her farther 
 called him a durty brute and kicked him haf way 
 down the pirymids and she goes about like a eastern 
 queen all bangles and sequins and amlets and she 
 puts a thing over her head an looks through peep 
 holes an she says shes goin to live in a hareem so you 
 better come quick if you want to keep her from being 
 bow stringed thats what they do to em wen they get 
 tired of em but i dont see how any one could get tired 
 of gartha she is such a funny little minks, and she 
 says she wants to get home and so i think we will be 
 comin soon now as this hole party seemes to be doin 
 just what gartha wants em to for she runs the shebang 
 and no mistake so i expec well be in marsales^ gartha 
 calls it marsay i dont see why in lessn a fortnit an to 
 paris throo by daylite and with love from gartha so 
 no more from your obedient nephew 
 
 "John Quentin MacDonald. 
 
 " I've told you all you want to know please dont 
 stop my allowns I want to buy a bracelet for gartha." 
 
 "That'll fetch him," said Master John MacDonald 
 to himself. 
 
 Extract from a letter written by Lady Eldon to 
 Hilary Valery, Esq. : 
 
 "And now for a piece of news, bona fide news. 
 Our American friend is going to marry. I really 
 cannot understand it. He seemed to care for — well, 
 for different people, in the days gone by, but not for 
 Ada Spencer. Now he is going to marry her, at 
 Ada's sister's house in Hampshire. They have a lit- 
 tle cottage there at Milton-on-Sea. There is nothing 
 but a sort of downs and the Channel to look at. To 
 be sure, there is golf, but I don't think that will fill 

 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 445 
 
 his cup, if Ada cannot. You know how they used to 
 quarrel ['I don't remember that Ada ever quarrelled 
 with Quentin,' mused Valery; 'I thought she was 
 rather fond of him.'] And how she abused him be- 
 hind his back. But now she has taken him, and not 
 too crooked a stick either. I should say rather that 
 it was he who has been through the wood, and taken 
 up with a crooked stick at last. She is older than 
 he, that I know for certain ['Yes, I think she is,' 
 mused Valery], and she is taller than he." 
 
 " There's where you're out, Mamasha," said Val- 
 ery, "she is not taller than Quentin. Oh! hola, 
 Alixe! I've got a letter from Mamasha. She gives 
 me a queer piece of news." 
 
 " What is it? " asked Alixe faintly. 
 
 " Why, Quentin is going to be married. I wonder 
 he has stayed single so long. I can't understand his 
 choice exactly. You don't say anything, Alixe? 
 What's the matter with you? " 
 
 " Why should I say anything? I am sure I hope 
 they will both be happy. Who is the lady? " 
 
 "You'd never guess," said Valery; "the Weasel 
 would be more likely. Ada Spencer, of all things! 
 You know how he used to run from her, and now — 
 well ! words fail. Do you want to go home for the 
 wedding, Alixe? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Alixe decidedly, " I prefer to re- 
 main abroad. Gartha wishes to go to India, and I 
 do not think a year more of it will harm her." 
 
 On that day Alixe wrote a second long letter to the 
 Archbishop. The final words of the letter were : " I 
 have firmly decided to enter the conventual life. This 
 is my irrevocable determination. Although I shall 
 remain here for a year longer, I shall, in that time,
 
 446 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 strengthen my health and my convictions, and at the 
 end of the year, you may expect me in Paris, to enter 
 where you may counsel me to go. I am a poor, 
 broken reed; but what is left of my life, and I am 
 young, dear Archbishop, shall be devoted to a holy 
 life and good works, if one so unworthy may be per- 
 mitted to add that much to the glory of the Church." 
 A little later Hilary Valery, Esq., received a char- 
 acteristic letter from Lady Eldon. It ran : 
 
 "My Dearest Valery: 
 
 " I cannot see what you are all about that you do 
 not write a line to me. I should think Gartha might 
 write to her poor little Mamasha occasionally. 
 
 " We have had a charming stay at the Abbey, but 
 are going back to England next week. You must 
 come to Eldon Towers when you return. Mr. Quen- 
 tin and Ada Spencer have both been staying here. 
 You will wish to come home, of course, for the mar- 
 riage. I hear that it is to take place at Ada Spencer's 
 sister's in June. Of course, entre nous, Alixe will not 
 want the necklace, as I hear from the Archbishop that 
 she has decided to enter the convent after all. Please, 
 dear Valery, do not mention it to any one. There is 
 no reason why all that money should go to the con- 
 vent — heaven knows that if she gives them half her 
 fortune it will be more than ample. She should give 
 the other half to me, since Bruno cannot claim it. I 
 am her mother, the one to whom she is indebted for 
 all that she has in the world. [' Faith, I should 
 think so!' ejaculated Valery.] Had it not been for 
 me, she would to-day possess no fortune and no title. 
 ['Nor two husbands,' interpolated Valery, 'one a 
 dotard and a roue, and the other a malefactor. 
 Clever Mamasha! Little cat!'] Please see to this, 
 Valery, for generous as Eldon is, it would be pleas- 
 ant to have a little bank account of one's own. 
 "Always your devoted 
 
 "Annie Eldon."
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 447 
 
 When Alixo read this letter, she showed no sign of 
 agitation. On that day there went away by express 
 a tiny jmrcel addressed to Quentin. He received it a 
 few days afterward in Paris. On the paper which 
 enclosed the little box was written in a clear hand 
 which Quentin did not know : 
 
 "For your wife." 
 
 " For your wife " — Quentin repeated the words over 
 and over again, but it was not until he opened the 
 box, and saw his own ring lying within its envelop- 
 ing cotton, that he knew from whom the parcel had 
 come.
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Quentin awoke one morning to the feeling that life 
 was hopeless and dull in the extreme, and that the 
 best thing that he could do with himself was to pack 
 his trunk and start for America. He had, in fact, 
 laid his finger on the electric button, when Jan's 
 round face came staring at him from the blank wall 
 of his hotel bedroom. He must wait for the lad, of 
 that there was no doubt. But where should he wait? 
 Should he remain in Paris until he heard from Val- 
 ery ? And when he did hear, should he go and fetch 
 the child, or should he allow Valery either to send 
 or bring him to Paris? The very thought of going to 
 the Abbey made his heart thump like a sledge-ham- 
 mer. A steamer sailed on the following day, the 
 steamer upon which he preferred of all others to take 
 passage. If he only knew where Valery was, he could 
 telegraph him. How strange of Valery not to keep 
 him informed of his movements, and how outrageous 
 of Jan. Jan had been most neglectful. His allow- 
 ance had been almost doubled, with the hope that 
 his gratitude would suggest prompt answers to his 
 uncle's letters, with the very slight hope added that 
 he would throw in something regarding the welfare of 
 the party. As Quentin dressed he worked himself 
 into a fever of indignation with Valery and Jan, the 
 latter in particular. 
 
 He had rung for a telegraph blank, which he meant
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 449 
 
 to fill out and despatch to Madame at Eldon Towers, 
 when a servant brought him a message. He tore it 
 open, hoping, fearing; his feelings mixed; his fingers 
 trembling. It was from Hilary Valerj, Esq., and 
 ran thus: "We arrived at the Abbey last night. 
 Come down and dine." 
 
 Quentin never lost his belief in telepathy after this 
 signal instance. He followed Valery's instructions 
 to the letter, and late afternoon found him starting 
 for Moncousis. When his bag was packed, he ran 
 hurriedly down the stairs and out into the street, 
 where the first person whom he saw, and against 
 whom, in his nervous state, he ran, was the Arch- 
 bishop. The two men had seen more or less of each 
 other during the year that was past. As the Arch- 
 bishop's eye fell upon Quentin's hurrying, nervous 
 figure, his last letter from Alixe came at once to his 
 mind. His Grace was feeling extremely cheerful as 
 well as secure, for had not he, as the representative 
 of the Church, outwitted Quentin, who stood for the 
 world and the devil, each warring for the soul of 
 Alixe? 
 
 To be sure, the letter from Alixe had been received 
 a long time ago ; but in it she expressed it as her un- 
 alterable determination that she should take up the 
 conventual life upon her return to France. Although 
 the Archbishop and Quentin had met occasionally, His 
 Grace had never broached the subject which was of 
 such vital interest to both. During one of the few 
 visits which Quentin had paid him, the Archbishop 
 had exclaimed: "Ah, Mr. Quentin, what a Catholic 
 you would make ! Why not come to us? Your char- 
 acter is so earnest, so firm, so absolutely single of 
 
 purpose, so devoted." 
 29
 
 450 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 Quentin knew well what had called forth this un- 
 usual burst of expression from the prelate. He knew 
 that His Grace recognized the fact that, although they 
 were each silent with regard to Alixe, each could 
 read the mind of the other as well as if their thoughts 
 were printed in the blackest type and covered only by 
 a clear pane of crystal, and that each mind was, for 
 the time, and perhaps because of the special compan- 
 ionship, filled with one and the same person. On 
 this day the Archbishop could but note the expectant 
 look in Quentin's eyes. 
 
 " Tou seem to be going somewhere, Mr. Quentin, " 
 said His Grace, with his ever-genial smile. " To El- 
 don Towers, perhaps. Give my warmest regards to 
 them all. Is Miss Spencer there? I hear that she is 
 going to marry that curious little person, Mr. Ware." 
 
 "I am going to the Abbey," said Quentin bluntly. 
 "They are at home, you know." 
 
 " At home ! They are at home ? But that is strange. 
 I have heard nothing. When did they arrive? " 
 
 " Yesterday. I have had a wire from Valery this 
 morning." 
 
 " At the Abbey? And she did not— I shall go with 
 you," said the Archbishop, breaking in upon his first 
 sentence. 
 
 " For what? " asked Quentin abruptly. 
 
 " And why should I not ask that same question of 
 you, Mr. Quentin? I have known them all, down 
 there, for many years, long before she was married 
 to the Duca di Brazzia ; but, of course, she did not 
 live at the Abbey then. That goes without saying." 
 
 The Archbishop's sentence sounded almost comic to 
 Quentin. He had said simply "she," but there was 
 no need for either of them to particularize further.
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 451 
 
 "Why should I not go?" added the Archbishop 
 after a moment's silence. 
 
 "I asked why you were going," repeated Quentin. 
 
 "And I answer that they are old friends of mine. 
 Why should I not go? Old and dear friends. Is 
 Lady Eldon there? " 
 
 "I know nothing — I have not seen her for some 
 time. I have heard but once or twice since I stayed 
 at Eldon Towers last autumn." 
 
 " And what have you been doing since, Mr. Quen- 
 tin?" 
 
 Had Quentin answered truly, he would have said, 
 " Eating niy heart out, " but as one seldom gives an 
 honest answer to any question, even the most trivial, 
 he replied : " Oh ! I have been travelling here and 
 there, to Switzerland, to Aix, passing the time as 
 best I could, until my nephew returns." 
 
 " And where is your nephew, if I may ask? " 
 
 " He has been with — with — them, with Valery and 
 — and his party. He is with them at the Abbey. I 
 am going down to get the lad." 
 
 Quentin edged along past the Archbishop as if eager 
 to get away. 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " I do not know. Take him home to America, per- 
 haps. But I must be off, Your Grace, or I shall lose 
 my train." 
 
 "Your train? Going now to your train? " 
 
 "And why not? " returned Quentin, quoting with a 
 smile the Archbishop's words of a moment ago. 
 
 His Grace looked at Quentin earnestly. 
 
 "Ah! Mr. Quentin," he said, "what a Catholic you 
 would have made. It is not too late. Come to me 
 when you return. Let me have a talk with you— she,
 
 452 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 you know — that idea is out of the question. She has 
 promised me " 
 
 "I know nothing," said Quentin, with a glimmer of 
 hope in his look, that caused the Archbishop a shade 
 of anxiety, " but that I am going to the Abbey, and I 
 must not lose my train. I will come to you when I 
 return, but I really must be off." 
 
 "I shall follow you," called the Archbishop after 
 the hurrying figure. " I shall not be long behind you ; 
 make up your mind to that." 
 
 Quentin nodded and smiled over his shoulder. He 
 could smile at the Archbishop, now that he had suc- 
 ceeded in evading him. He almost ran toward the 
 cab-stand. He threw his bag into the fiacre, threw 
 himself in after it, and was whirled away to the sta- 
 tion. By dint of repeated promises of pourboire, he 
 just managed to pass through the gates of the station 
 before they were closed. He made a very close con- 
 nection all the way, and at the straggling little vil- 
 lage of Moncousis he, this time, found a vehicle in 
 waiting, and, springing in, was jolted along the road 
 toward the Abbey. Antoine doubled back, under-ran 
 the railway, and was soon on the way toward the 
 great enclosure which Quentin had seen three years 
 ago for the first time. The train was the same which 
 had brought him to the Abbey on his first visit, arid 
 as then, the night was falling. Again he gazed upon 
 the long, white, dusty ribbon of the road which 
 stretched away in perspective ; again he saw the fields, 
 darkening wastes under a light, fading dimly. Ah ! 
 here was the hill. Antoine turned his horse to the 
 left, and they were soon ascending it. To the right, 
 again, they curved with jerk and jounce, and now 
 stood out the great wall, flinging its barriers across
 
 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 453 
 
 the plain of little country gardens. But barrier 
 though it was, it advanced to meet Quentin ; it held 
 out a welcoming hand to him, he felt, he hoped ; and, 
 as if in sympathy, the leaves upon the near hillside 
 murmured and whispered, "She is here! She is 
 here!" 
 
 Quentin, as he gazed upward at the moss-grown 
 gray squares of stone, expected almost, while deem- 
 ing it improbable, to see a little brown head peering 
 down at him from over its tiled roof. And so it 
 came about. It was all so natural, when Gartha's 
 voice, Gartha's voice grown older and more assured, 
 called, "Valery, is that you?" that Quentin could 
 have thought that time had flown backward, that it 
 was the dead August of three years past, and that he 
 was now approaching the Abbey for the first time. 
 But ah, no! In that twilit August walk of three 
 years ago he knew of no Alixe. Since that time, he 
 felt as if he had known of nothing else. 
 
 Quentin made no sign to Gartha. Through the un- 
 certain dusk she saw only the black form within the 
 station wagon. He heard her say, "I thought it 
 might be Valery or John Quentin," and a boyish 
 voice answered with frank lack of flattery : " Not he ! 
 Not Uncle Jack. He likes Paris too well to come 
 down here the first thing." 
 
 A hundred yards further and Antoine had drawn 
 up at the gate, and had rung the bell. Charles an- 
 swered, as of old, with his ever polite "Bon jour, 
 Monsieur," and the gratuitous information that Mon- 
 sieur Yalery had gone to Paris to meet Mr. Quentin, 
 as he had received no reply to his message. Quentin 
 remembered now that he had not replied. He had 
 forgotten the proprieties in his anticipation. He
 
 454 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 entered upon the broad terrace. It seemed like a 
 dream that he had dreamed before. He breathed the 
 perfume of flowers. The salon door was open. 
 There was no one about. 
 
 Quentin was agitated beyond measure. He did not 
 wait to speak further with Charles or Antoine, but 
 walked hurriedly to the head of the old stone steps, 
 and looked across the flower garden at the ragged 
 edges of the ruin. The great trees thrust their heads 
 out of the enclosure as of old ; their branches waved 
 in the night wind. Were they beckoning to him, or 
 were they warning him away? The odors of the 
 yellow roses, cinnamon pinks, and mignonette were 
 abroad upon the air. How inexpressibly entrancing 
 it all was ! The hour, the place, the gently fading 
 light lapsing into mysterious shadow, the scents of 
 a summer dead and gone ; they seemed to clasp him 
 in an embrace from which he could not escape, and 
 hold him close. He found himself murmuring, 
 "Have there been other days than this?" and then 
 there came a sudden pang at his heart. Suppose she 
 had not come after all ! 
 
 Quentin descended the stairs with hurried steps 
 and was at once within the tunnel of greenery, which 
 had grown denser in the three years during which he 
 had not seen it freshly leaved. Afar, he thought that 
 he heard voices. He stopped and listened. 
 
 Ah ! They were only Gartha's high tones, mingled 
 with the boyish ones of Jan. Then there came to 
 him upon the night air the sound of the lad's whistle; 
 but that was far down along the convent wall, the 
 way by which he had come. 
 
 Quentin approached the old door of the Abbey 
 church. He was overcome with emotion. Could it
 
 THE AKCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 455 
 
 be that three whole years had passed since he had sat 
 there with her for a few brief moments, and held her 
 hands in his? Should he find her within? He could 
 not think of it now without her. That other visit 
 that he had paid in the late autumn to Madame had 
 nothing to do with her. Her time was the time of the 
 mignonette, the cinnamon pinks, the yellow roses. 
 
 Quentin passed through the archway. "Was the 
 ruin empty? He stood for a moment thinking won- 
 derful confused thoughts, fearing to go forward, un- 
 willing to retreat. Was that a dim shape over there 
 where the tall oaks grew? As he stood thus waiting, 
 he heard again a low voice calling, " Gartha, Gartha, 
 where are you? " and again " Gartha, Gartha, where 
 are you? " and he knew now that at the first sound of 
 that voice in that wonderful summer now past his 
 soul had fallen before her. She was seated upon the 
 bent limb from which he had brushed the snow on his 
 last visit to the ruin. As she saw that some one ap- 
 proached her out of the dusk, she arose with a faint 
 exclamation, her tall figure outlined against the som- 
 bre wall. Quentin advanced slowly, hesitatingly, as 
 one approaches a shrine. When she saw who was 
 coming toward her, she uttered a little cry of welcome, 
 and took a step forward. He hastened his steps 5 and 
 in a moment he was at her feet holding both her hands 
 within his own.
 
 L. 
 
 The good Archbishop was perplexed. "As he walked 
 away from Quentin he found himself wondering why 
 the young man should have decided thus suddenly to 
 go down to the Abbey. He felt quite certain that 
 Quentin would not be able to change the mind of 
 Alixe. She had written him, now some time ago, 
 that she was prepared for a whole life of expiation, a 
 long, long life. She was young, only twenty-two 
 years old. If the Archbishop experienced a pang 
 that so much beauty and youth and life should be 
 shut away fr.om the world forever, he quenched any 
 such weakness for the sake of that Lord and Master 
 whom he served, and had ever served whereinsoever 
 he thought his duty lay. 
 
 "I should have gone with him," he murmured to 
 himself as he proceeded toward his own house. " It 
 is true that I promised to see the sister who is dying 
 atSte. Marie, but this, —this— but— no! no! I cannot 
 go to night. I cannot break my promise. I will take 
 the early train to-morrow. 
 
 "Pack my bag," he said to his servant on entering 
 the door. " I must be away betimes in the morning." 
 
 The road from the station to Moncousis was wet, 
 .and the dew was hardly off the grass when the Arch- 
 bishop arrived at the Abbey gate. He had passed a 
 wakeful and a serious night. He had administered to 
 the dying nun, soothed her pillow, given her absolu-
 
 THE ABCHBISHOP AND THE LADY 457 
 
 tion, and with the eyes of faith had almost seen her 
 glorified spirit vanish through those portals where 
 his soon must follow ; for the Archbishop was an old 
 man now, and the blow which had felled him to the 
 ground had left its trace upon his frame and nerves. 
 Charles opened at His Grace's ring. The visitor, with 
 but a hurried, kindly nod, hastened across the terrace 
 like one on some important errand bent. The salon 
 door, which was always thrown wide on sunny sum- 
 mer days, stood open as of old; but, as upon Quen- 
 tin's arrival, the great room held no occupant. The 
 Archbishop, scenting danger, turned away, and, with 
 a quick step for so old a man, descended the stone 
 stairway, and entered the Abbey. 
 
 They saw him as he entered, Quentin and Alixe. 
 She ran to meet him, both arms outstretched. She 
 fell upon his neck and kissed him as a daughter 
 might have done. She was brimming over with new 
 life and smiles. She was transfigured. There was a 
 rose flush upon her cheek, which the Archbishop had 
 never seen before. She had something of white thrown 
 around her shoulders; about her throat was a tiny 
 chain, and upon it hung a ring which the Archbishop 
 remembered to have picked up from the floor of his 
 library and restored to her. 
 
 " My daughter, " said His Grace, "my dear, dear 
 daughter! " 
 
 Her open expression of affection touched him deep- 
 lj', and overcame him for the moment. Is it possible 
 that he thought of something which might have been — 
 a something which his unselfish life had made impos- 
 sible — a something which, but for his self-abnega- 
 tion, he too might have shared — of a filial affection 
 which might have been his by right?
 
 458 THE AECHBISHOP AND THE LADY 
 
 "My daughter," he said again, and placed his two 
 withered hands upon her shoulders. His lips trem- 
 bled. He looked uncertainly toward Quentin, who 
 stood a few paces away, and then back at Alixe. He 
 fixed her with his eye, looked squarely into the shin- 
 ing depths of hers, and said, " I have come to claim 
 your promise " ; but his voice faltered as he reached 
 the end of his sentence, for he realized all in a mo- 
 ment that he had lost. 
 
 " Dear Archbishop ! " said Alixe. She leaned 
 against this lovable old man with a confidence which 
 had no trace of fear in it, tears gathered in the bright- 
 ness of her eyes, and rolled down over a face beam- 
 ing with happy smiles. " Dear Archbishop "—she 
 looked toward Quentin — " that letter was written under 
 a misapprehension." 
 
 "Under a misapprehension, my child? You sure- 
 ly have not forgotten what you wrote to me. You 
 said, ' I am coming home to you, to the sweet peace 
 of the conventual life. I am coming back to you, to 
 take upon me the vows of the sisterhood. I am go- 
 ing to leave the world, that is my irrevocable deter- 
 mination — to leave the world forever. ' " 
 
 "Ah! Your Grace," said Alixe, her face still shin- 
 ing with tears and smiles, " dear old friend, I cannot 
 leave the world. It is a lovely world. It is a beautiful 
 world. I do not care to leave it." She laid one hand 
 upon his shoulder and stretched the other toward 
 Quentin. 
 
 THE END
 
 

 
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