d have been changed had Paul Coquenil remained
outside Notre-Dame on this occasion it is impossible to know; the fact is
he did not remain outside, but, growing impatient at Bonneton's delay, he
pushed open the double swinging doors, with their coverings of leather and
red velvet, and entered the sanctuary. _And immediately he saw the girl_.

She was in the shadows near a statue of the Virgin before which candles
were burning. On the table were rosaries and talismans and candles of
different lengths that it was evidently the girl's business to sell. In
front of the Virgin's shrine was a _prie dieu_ at which a woman was
kneeling, but she presently rose and went out, and the girl sat there
alone. She was looking down at a piece of embroidery, and Coquenil noticed
her shapely white hands and the mass of red golden hair coiled above her
neck. When she lifted her eyes he saw that they were dark and beautiful,
though tinged with sadness. He was surprised to find this lovely young
woman selling candles here in Notre-Dame Church.

And suddenly he was more surprised, for as the girl glanced up she met his
gaze fixed on her, and immediately there came into her face a look so
strange, so glad, and yet so frightened that Coquenil went to her quickly
with reassuring smile. He was sure he had never seen her before, yet he
realized that somehow she was equally sure that she knew him.

What followed was seen by only one person, that is, the sacristan's wife, a
big, hard-faced woman with a faint mustache and a wart on her chin, who sat
by the great column near the door dispensing holy water out of a cracked
saucer and whining for pennies. Nothing escaped the hawklike eyes of Mother
Bonneton, and now, with growing curiosity, she watched the scene between
Coquenil and the candle seller. What interest could a great detective have
in this girl, Alice, whom she and her husband had taken in as a
half-charity boarder? Such airs as she gave herself! What was she saying
now? Why should he look at her like that? The baggage!

"Holy saints, how she talks!" grumbled the sacristan's wife. "And see the
eyes she makes! And how he listens! The man must be crazy to waste his time
on her! Now he asks a question and she talks again with that queer,
far-away look. He frowns and clinches his hands, and--upon my soul he seems
afraid of her! He says something and starts to come away. Ah, now he turns
and stares at her as if he had seen a ghost! _Mon Dieu, qu