“I was not aware,” said Charley. “Well, did the man who stole the patens from the altar—”
“They were chalices,” again interrupted the Cure, with a faint smile.
“Ah, I was not aware!” again rejoined Charley. “I repeat, what reason had the person who stole the chalices to try to blow up the Governor’s residence? Is it a sign of infidelity, or—”
“You can answer for that yourself,” angrily interposed the Abbe. The strain was telling on his nerves.
“It is fair to give reasons for the suspicion,” urged the Seigneur acidly.
“As I said before, Francois, this is not the fifteenth century.”
“He hated the English government,” said the Abbe. “I do not understand,” responded Charley. “Am I then to suppose that the alleged criminal was a Frenchman as well as an infidel?”
There was silence, and Charley continued. “It is an unusual thing for a French Abbe to be so concerned for the safety of an English Protestant’s life and housing... the Governor is a Protestant—eh? That is, indeed, a zeal almost Christian—or millennial.”
The Abby turned to the Seigneur. “Are you going to interfere longer with the process of the law?”
“I think Monsieur has not quite finished his argument,” said the Seigneur, with a twist of the mouth.