"If you should be disposed to express yourself in such terms at the
Vatican,—" he began.
The Cardinal relapsed into his usual calm, and met the Abbe's questioning, half cynical glance composedly. "I have many things to speak of at the Vatican," he answered,—"This matter will probably be one of them."
"Then—" But whatever Vergniaud was about to say was interrupted by the entrance of the boy Manuel, who at that moment came into the room and stood beside the Cardinal's chair. The Abbe gave him an upward glance of surprise and admiration.
"Whom have we here?" he exclaimed, "One of your acolytes, Monseigneur?"
"No," replied the Cardinal, his eyes resting on the fair face of the lad with a wistful affection, "A little stray disciple of our Lord,—to whom I have ventured to offer protection. There is none to question my right to do so, for he is quite alone in the world."
And in a few words he related how he had discovered the boy on the previous night, weeping outside the Cathedral in Rouen. Angela Sovrani listened attentively, her violet eyes darkening and deepening as she heard,—now and then she raised them to look at the youthful waif who stood so quietly while the story of his troubles was told in the gentle and sympathetic way which was the Cardinal's usual manner of speech, and which endeared him so much to all. "And for the present," finished Bonpre, smiling—"he stays with me, and already I have found him skilled in the knowledge of many things,—he can read Scripture with a most musical and clear emphasis,—and he is a quick scribe, so that he will be valuable to me in more ways than one."
"Ah!" and the Abbe turned himself round in his chair to survey the boy more attentively, "You can read Scripture? But can you understand it? If you can, you are wiser than I am!"
Manuel regarded him straightly.
"Was it not once said in Judaea that "IT IS THE SPIRIT THAT
QUICKENETH'?" he asked.
"True!—And from that you would infer . . . ?"