“You are English, monsieur?”
“Yes.”
“And you would trust Catholics, Frenchwomen, as much as that?”
“I have been a traveller, madam, and I am no bigot.”
The Superior, with her face wrinkled up with deepest perplexity, looked from him to the child, who had stretched out her tiny fingers for the rosary.
“You see this omen. Does not that frighten you?”
The stranger hesitated, and looked down upon his little daughter, who was clasping the crucifix with delight. Like most sailors, of high and low degree, he was superstitious.
“One must risk something,” he said at last bluntly. “And if I’m ready to risk that, surely you might give way.”
“I would if I could. My heart yearns to the poor little creature. But she would be very unsuitably placed here. Have you no friends, no relations, who would take charge of her?”
He laughed shortly.