"Monseigneur does choose such extraordinary places to say his office in!" thought a younger and taller priest, making his way through the throng to the old man. "One knows, of course, that it is all the same to him wherever he is."
He approached his compatriot and addressed him with deference. For the shabby little ecclesiastic was the exiled bishop of one of the most important dioceses in France.
"It is as Your Grandeur thought. The corvette is from Houat, and she has on board a dozen or so of our unfortunate fellow-countrymen from Quiberon. They are sending them ashore now."
The Bishop slipped the book he was reading into a bulged pocket. "Then we will go and meet them. Ah, pardon, my friend, I hope I have not hurt you?" he exclaimed, as, in turning, he collided with a gigantic man-o'-war's man in a shiny tarpaulin hat.
The sailor pulled his forelock. "Not very likely, sir, saving your presence," he returned, with a grin. "'Twould take a vessel of more tonnage than you has to sink Tom Richards!"
"I love these good mariners!" observed the Bishop, as the two priests made their way to the edge of the quay and looked down. The corvette's boat was already there, landing her cargo of battered and broken men. So the Bishop stationed himself at the top of the steps, and as they came up he spoke to each, asking his name, where he was going, if he had need of anything.
Last of all came a tall, gaunt man in English uniform who seemed rather dazed, and was helped by two sailors up the steps. When his supporters abandoned him he sat down on a bollard and put his right hand over his eyes. His left sleeve hung empty.
Perceiving his condition the Bishop did not address him directly, but applied for information about him to the lieutenant of the régiment de Rohan with whom he had last been conversing.
"No one at Houat knew exactly who he was, Monseigneur," replied the French officer, glancing over his shoulder. "He was found half-dead on the rocks there as long ago as August, and he was ill for months afterwards from wounds and exposure. Neither then nor since has he been able to give much account of himself—he seems to have lost his memory—though from the few rags remaining on him when he was discovered it was supposed that he had been one of the Chouan leaders."
"Thank you, Monsieur," said the Bishop. He went over, with compassion in his face, to the seated man, and touched him on the shoulder.