"So you came this way," he said harshly. "I thought as much, but they would not listen to me."
"And you, Père Hyacinthe?" I asked. "Where do you go?"
"I go upon my Father's business," he answered in the phrase I had heard him use more than once before.
"Alone?"
His pallid, riven face cracked in what I suppose he intended for a smile of sarcasm.
"Shall I take with me such guards as attend the Holy Father when he rides in state? No, but I am guarded, Englishman. Cohorts of angels attend me. The cherubim chant me on my way. It suffices."
"I do not seek to probe your affairs," I replied as politely as I could, "but you are our enemy. We do not wish to harm you, yet we must protect ourselves."
"You cannot harm me," he said without irritation. "Enemy? No, my erring son, I am not your enemy—or, rather say I am enemy only to the evil that hath possession of you. But content yourself. I have come many miles this day and I saw no living thing, save the beasts of the forest."
I was satisfied, for I knew it was not in the priest to lie.
"Have you food?" I asked.