"You do not wish to tell me,—is that so?" he pursued.
"Yes," said Manuel quietly—"I do not wish to tell you. And if, because of this, you regret your kindness to me, my lord Cardinal, I will go away at once and trouble you no more."
But at these words the Cardinal felt such a sharp consciousness of pain and loss that his nerves ached with positive fear.
"Nay, nay, my child," he said anxiously—"I cannot let you go. It shall be as you please,—I will not think that you could do yourself or me a wrong by concealing what would be right for you to tell. It is true that you are alone in the world?"
"Quite, quite alone!" answered Manuel, a faint shadow darkening the serenity of his eyes—"No one was ever more alone than I!"
Madame Patoux drew nearer and listened.
"And there is no person living who has the right to claim you?"
"None!"
"And is it not strange, Monseigneur," murmured Madame Patoux at this juncture—"The little lad does not speak as if he were ignorant! It is as though he had been well taught and carefully nurtured."
Manuel's deep eyes dwelt upon her with a meditative sweetness.