“The blindness or the wickedness of our authorities.”
“You speak strongly, Monsieur Deshoulières.”
“You would do the same, Monseigneur, if your work lay where mine does.”
There was a little silence: the doctor became aware of the unintentional irony of his words; the Bishop also had recognised it, for he moved his head restlessly upon the cushion. Presently he stretched out his hand to the doctor and said with simple dignity,—
“I am an old man. I cannot give the personal help this great town requires at my hands. Strength and opportunity are no longer mine, but at least I can pronounce the blessing of God upon those who, like you, are using them for His poor.” There was something of grandeur in his face and attitude; M. Deshoulières, much moved, rose up and stood silent. He had never before realised in the Bishop’s character the force which lay hidden behind an easy good-nature. At this moment a bell rang.
“That is Monsieur Pinot,” said the Bishop, relapsing into a smile. “I shall not see him.”
“Monseigneur, all this time we have not spoken of yourself.”
“I did not send to you for that purpose. I believe your friend is doing me no harm, and it would give him so much satisfaction to cure me that I must let him have the chance for once. But if he fails, I bargain that André Triquet’s grandson and I change doctors.”
“Nevertheless, I shall put a few questions,” said M. Deshoulières.
When these were over, the Bishop, who liked a little gossip, detained him.