No; it isn't because Father Anton is a clergyman
that I want him, it's because he's the man I've been looking for," that
most astounding American had said. "There isn't any creed, or
religion, or sect, or anything like that in this--or any supervision.
What I'm after is practical results, and nothing else. I just want a
piece of bread to go where it is needed, and no questions asked. I've
always had the idea, but I didn't have the man. I've got him now.
Father Anton might not care to leave Bernay-sur-Mer--eh? H'm! There's
five hundred thousand francs a year at his disposal for the poor of
Paris--ask him if he thinks he can do any good with it?"

And so he had come to Paris. It was magnificent that--the generosity
of Monsieur Bliss! And Monsieur Bliss was amazing! He had found a
most beautiful little apartment, most beautifully furnished, in a very
fashionable part of the city, and with two servants already installed,
awaiting him. Imagine! It was impossible! How could one reach the
poor unless one lived amongst them? And to maintain an establishment
when--Father Anton sighed again--when even the enormous sum of five
hundred thousand francs was all too little!

He glanced around the room. Even as it was, his quarters must seem
ostentatious compared with the poverty about him--the Widow Migneault,
for example, in the rear room of the _troisieme etage_ above him. But
what could one do? There was no arguing with those Americans! They
had insisted on furnishing the place to their own satisfaction.

Father Anton's eyes returned to the glowing coals in the stove. He was
very happy because his work was the work that he, too, had dreamed of;
but one could not help thinking sometimes of Bernay-sur-Mer, and all
the lifelong friends, and the people who were so close to his heart.
And if he loved to picture them in his mind, and if there was perhaps a
little ache at the thought that he had left them, he was none the less
thankful to the _bon Dieu_ that he could do so much now with what was
left of his life.

What were they all doing in Bernay-sur-Mer to-night? What was
Marie-Louise doing? It was two months now since she had written him.
She did not write as often as she used to write. He shook his head
sadly. She had had her sorrow, poor Marie-Louise! What a boundless
store of love there was in that brave little heart! If only it would
be given to some worthy young fellow now--Father Anton wrinkled his
br