no need of these in any
case!--but with that achieved, then, I tell you then, that"--his hands
dropped to his sides, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Ah, well, I had
thought to see it before I died; and yet I, who am an old man, whose
work is over, am still alive, and Jean Laparde is dead. Will you
explain that, Monsieur le Cure?"

Father Anton's smile now was one of kindly amusement.

"But Jean is not dead," he said again. "It is to tell you that, that I
have come."

"Hey!" cried Bidelot. He stared at Father Anton in startled and amazed
incredulity. "Hey!" he cried hoarsely, and grasped with both hands at
Father Anton's shoulders. "What is this you say? Are you mad,
Monsieur le Cure? Not dead! You say that Jean Laparde is not dead!
It is impossible! It is inconceivable!"

"And yet," said Father Anton, still smiling, "since I married him at
the studio--eh? And since I am here now from him with a message for
you!"

"Married! At the studio!" Old Bidelot gazed wildly around him. "My
hat!" he ejaculated excitedly. "Where is my hat? I will go at once!
At once! Jean--at the studio! It is not possible--but I will go!"

"Yes," Father Anton nodded, "we will go to the studio, for that is what
Jean wanted you to do. But Jean himself is no longer there."

Old Bidelot, already halfway to the door, stopped abruptly and whirled
around.

"Not there! Then--then what? He is not dead! He is married! He is
at the studio! He is not at the studio! I do not understand! I
understand nothing!"

"I will explain it all to you," Father Anton told him soothingly. "But
let us go. It will take time to tell it, for it is a long story, and
we can talk on the way."

"Yes--well, then! Well, then! But make haste!" Bidelot dragged at
the skirt of Father Anton's _soutane_, and led the way from the
apartment, exclaiming as he went. Then, as they reached the street, he
caught Father Anton's arm and shook it almost as he would a refractory
child's. "Now, then! Now, then--tell me!"

"But be calm, Monsieur Bidelot; I pray you to be calm!" expostulated
Father Anton gently. "See"--stepping out--"I will tell you as we walk
along. Well, then--listen! One night, a little over four months ago,
Hector came to my rooms in such excitement that I thought he was ill.
He told me that Jean had come back. Like you, I could not believe it.
I hurried there--I ran. It was true! It was Jean--not like the Jean
that went away;