Pere Rameau was crossing the hall. In the dim light, a stone basin
holding oil after the fashion of a Greek lamp, the wick floating on top,
the priest glanced up at his visitor. Both had passed each other in the
street and hardly needed an introduction.

"I hope I have not disturbed you in any way," began M. St. Armand in an
attractive tone that gained a listener at once. "I have come to talk
over a matter that has a curious interest for me, and I am told you have
the key, if not to the mystery exactly, to some of the links. I hope you
will not consider me intrusive."

"I shall be glad to give you any information that is possible. I am not
a politician, Monsieur, and have been trained not to speak evil of those
appointed to rule over us."

He was a tall, spare man with a face that even in the wrinkles and
thinness of age, and perhaps a little asceticism, was sweet and calm,
and the brown eyes were soft, entreating. Clean shaven, the chin showed
narrow, but the mouth redeemed it. He wore the black cassock of the
Recollets, the waist girded by a cord from which was suspended a cross
and a book of devotions.

"Then if it is a serious talk, come hither. There may be a little smoke
in the air--"

"I am a smoker myself," said St. Armand cordially.

"Then you may not object to a pipe. I have some most excellent tobacco.
I bethink me sometimes that it is not a habit of self-sacrifice, but the
fragrance is delightful and it soothes the nerves."

The room was rather long, and somewhat narrow. At the far end there was
a small altar and a _prie dieu_. A candle was burning and its light
defined the ivory crucifix above. In the corner a curtained something
that might be a confessional. Indeed, not a few startling confessions
had been breathed there. An escritoire with some shelves above,
curiously carved, that bespoke its journey across the sea, took a great
wall space and seemed almost to divide the room. The window in the front
end was quite wide, and the shutters were thrown open for air, though a
coarse curtain fell in straight folds from the top. Here was a
commodious desk accommodating papers and books, a small table with pipes
and tobacco, two wooden chairs and a more comfortable one which the
priest proffered to the guest.

"Shall we have a light? Marcel, bring a candle."

"Nay," protested the visitor, "I enjoy this dimness. One seems more
inclined to talk, though I think I have heard a most excellent reason
educed