He broke off suddenly and crossed himself. Pierre Midon stared at the action.
"What ails thee, Jean?" he asked brusquely,—"Hast thou remembered a dead sin, or a passing soul?"
"Neither," replied Patoux slowly, "But only just the thought of another child—a waif and stray whom the good Cardinal found in the streets of Rouen, outside our great Cathedral door. A gentle lad!—my wife was greatly taken with him;—and he was present in my house too, when the miracle of healing was performed."
"And for that, is there any need to cross thyself like a mumbling old woman afraid of the devil?" enquired his cousin.
Patoux smiled a slow smile.
"Gently, Pierre—gently!" he said. "Thou art of Paris,—I of the provinces. That makes all the difference in the way we look at life. There are very few holy things in great cities,—but there are many in the country. Every day when I am at home I go out of the town to work in my field,—and I feel the clean breath of the wind, the scent of the earth and the colours of the sky and the flowers,—and I know quite well there is a God, or these blessings could not be. For if there were only Chance and a Man to manage the universe, a pretty muddle we should have of it! And when I see or think of a holy thing, I sign the cross out of old childhood's habit,—so just now, when I remembered the boy whom the Cardinal rescued from the streets, I knew I was thinking of a holy thing; and that explains my action."
"How dost thou prove a waif of the streets a holy thing?" enquired
Pierre curiously.
Patoux shrugged his shoulders, and gave a wide deprecatory wave of both hands.
"Ah, that is more than I can tell you!" he said,—"It is a matter beyond my skill. But the boy was a fair-faced boy,—I never saw him myself—"
Midon laughed outright.