pected him. He had his sheep to attend to. For the
present his comrade did what was necessary, believing him employed on
his master's business. Also, if he were to succour and protect the
abandoned bestial and poultry-yard, dear to the Senora, he must return
as swiftly as possible.

Finally, however, he also was brought to see reason.

Indeed, the growing weakness of the old lady seriously disquieted every
one. So much so, indeed, that Don Jordy went on ahead as soon as the
black mass of Elne hunched itself up against the faint pearl-grey sheet
which was hung behind the sand-dunes of Argeles, on the way of the sea.

Grey, pallid day was beginning to break when he returned, having seen
and heard great things.

At first the night-watchman of the little palace had hesitated to
intrude upon the Bishop, who, he said, had company--no other than the
learned Doctor Ange de Pas, so learned that he scrupled not to enter
into dispute with the Vatican itself, so holy that Sixtus V., at first
angered by his stubbornness, finally made a saint of him before his
time, because he was the only man who dared to withstand him face to
face. "Also," said the watchman, "there was another, who had come from
the south with a retinue, now lodged in the cells of the ancient
monastery of the Cordeliers."

"His name?" Don Jordy demanded, fearing lest it should be some great
missioner of the Inquisition on his rounds, in which case he was lost
indeed--and most likely all those who were with him.

"He gave no name," said Leucate the watchman, "and his face was covered.
But he knew this place well, and spoke of Fernand Doria, where certain
of his chief men could put up, and also of the way to the ancient
Convent of the Cordeliers."

This news somewhat reassured Don Jordy, and he bade Leucate carry up his
message. He was immediately bidden to enter into the Bishop's private
apartments. The good Onuphre de Reart, last Bishop of Elne, was a little
smiling man, with a sweet obstinacy in his expression which was not
belied by the good fight he had fought with the Inquisition for the
privileges of the Church in Roussillon and in the diocese of Elne.

Doctor Ange de Pas was, of course, known to Don Jordy, and rose to give
him greeting. But even the holy monk, his hand crisped, as about the
quill with which he wrote his many books, showed certain signs of
nervousness. The Bishop of Elne held up his hand as if to halt Don Jordy
in what he was about to