“Do you mean that a man is an infidel because he cannot say, as Louis Trudel said to me, ‘Do you believe in God?’ and replies, as I replied, ‘God knows!’ Is that infidelity? If God is God, He alone knows when the mind or the tongue can answer in the terms of that faith which you profess. He knows the secret desires of our hearts, and what we believe, and what we do not believe; He knows better than we ourselves know—if there is a God. Does a man conjure God, if he does not believe in God? ‘God knows!’ is not a statement of infidelity. With me it was a phrase—no more. You ask me to bare my inmost soul. I have not learned how to confess. You ask me to lay bare my past, to prove my identity. For conscience sake you ask that, and I for conscience sake say I will not, Monsieur. You, when you enter your priestly life, put all your past behind you. It is dead for ever: all its deeds and thoughts and desires, all its errors—sins. I have entered on a life here which is to me as much a new life as your priesthood is to you. Shall I not have the right to say, that may not be disinterred? Have I not the right to say, Hands off? For the past I am responsible, and for the past I will speak from the past; but for the deeds of the present I will speak only from the present. I am not a Frenchman; I did not steal the little cross from the church door here, nor the golden chalices in Quebec; nor did I seek to injure the Governor’s residence. I have not been in Quebec for three years.”
He ceased speaking, and fixed his eyes on the Abbe, who now met his look fairly.
“In the way of justice, there is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed, nor secret that shall not be made known,” answered the Abbe. “Prove that you were not in Quebec on the day the robbery was committed.” There was silence. The Abbe’s pertinacity was too difficult. The Seigneur saw the grim look in Charley’s face, and touched the Abbe on the arm. “Let us walk a little outside. Come, Cure” he added. “It is right that Monsieur should have a few minutes alone. It is a serious charge against him, and reflection will be good for us all.”
He motioned the constables from the room. The Abby passed through the door into the open air, and the Cure and the Seigneur went arm in arm together, talking earnestly. The Cure turned in the doorway.
“Courage, Monsieur!” he said to Charley, and bowed himself out. Jo Portugais followed.
One officer took his place at the front door and the other at the back door, outside.
The Abby, by himself, took to walking backward and forward under the trees, buried in gloomy reflection. Jo Portugais caught his sleeve.
“Come with me for a moment, M’sieu’,” he said. “It is important.”
The Abby followed him.