"That always is the rule," said the Cardinal, "No criticism can kill good work or vivify bad. So be happy, Angela mia! Paint your great picture with courage and hope—I will neither judge nor condemn, and if the world's verdict should be cruel, mine shall be kind!"
He smiled and stroked her soft hair, then taking her arm he leaned upon it affectionately as they left the studio together.
X.
The next day, and the next after that, were passed by the Cardinal in gratifying a certain eagerness shown by his young foundling, Manuel, to see the churches and great public buildings of Paris. The boy had a quiet, straightforward way of expressing his wishes and opinions, and a certain marked individuality in his manner—in fact, so simple and straight were his words, and so much to the point, that they sometimes caused confusion to his hearers. Once or twice he gave offence, as for example, on visiting a great church where there were numerous jewelled relics and priceless treasures of old lace and embroidery, when he said suddenly:
"There is a woman just outside the door, very ill and poor, with two little starving children;—would it not be well to sell some of the jewels here and give her the money?"
The custodian looked amazed, and the attendant priest who was escorting
Cardinal Bonpre through the building, frowned.
"The treasures of the Church are not to be sold," he said curtly. "The beggar outside is no doubt a trained hypocrite."
"Christ would not say so," answered Manuel softly,—"He would not, even if He knew her to be a hypocrite, retain anything of value for Himself, if by giving it to her, He could ease her pain and poverty. I cannot understand why the Church should keep jewels."
"That is because you are ignorant," said the priest roughly.
Manuel raised his grave blue eyes and fixed them steadily upon him.