Father Anton coughed nervously.
"There—there is a reception to-night," he said hesitantly. He coughed again. "For Jean. You might see him there perhaps—from the gallery. I—I have a card."
She sprang away from him, with a quick exclamation of excitement.
"Oh, come then!" she cried impulsively, and caught his hand to pull him toward the door.
Father Anton turned away his head. Tears had sprung to his eyes. He was indeed a criminal—the criminal of the ages! But if it would save Marie-Louise! Ah, yes, he must keep that thought always before him. He looked at her again, as he fumbled once more with his spectacles.
"Yes, yes; at once!" he said mechanically. "But"—he was staring at her now in sudden consternation—"but you cannot go like that! Have you no other clothes?"
She pointed at the little bundle on the floor.
He shook his head.
"No hat? No coat?"
"No-o," she said tremulously, as though she sensed an impending tragedy.