"It is the bell of Ste. Marie," returned the curé.
Even Tanrade was silent now, for his reverence had made the sign of the cross. As his fingers moved I saw a peculiar look come into his eyes—a look of mingled disappointment and resignation.
Again Alice spoke: "Your cracked bell at Pont du Sable has not long to ring, my friend," she said very tenderly.
"One must be content, my child, with what one has," replied the curé.
Alice leaned towards him and whispered something in his ear, Germaine smiling the while.
I saw his reverence give a little start of surprise.
"No, no," he protested half aloud. "Not that; it is too much to ask of you with all your rehearsals at the Bouffes Parisiennes coming."
"Parbleu!" exclaimed Alice, "it will not be so very difficult—I shall accomplish it, you shall see what a concert we shall give—we shall make a lot of money; every one will be there. It has the voice of a frog, your bell. Dieu! What a fuss it makes over its crack. You shall have a new one—two new ones, mon ami, even if we have to make bigger the belfry of your little gray church to hang them."
The curé grew quite red. I saw for an instant his eyes fill with tears, then with a benign smile, he laid his hand firmly over Alice's and lifting the tips of her fingers, kissed them twice in gratefulness.