“It is empty,� he answered; “I found a lodger often troublesome.�
“Yet you had one some weeks since,� remarked the priest calmly, “or I have been misinformed.�
Charlot stirred uneasily. “I rented it for three days only, mon père,� he said.
“Ah, yes—for three days,� repeated Père Ambroise, twirling his thumbs and looking up at the ceiling; “and your lodger then became Madame de St. Cyr’s steward. How was this, my son?�
The shoemaker’s fingers were twitching the thread nervously.
“It was an accident, Père Ambroise,� he said. “Madame de St. Cyr knew his family and heard that he was here.�
“She knew his family?� repeated the priest again, his twinkling eyes travelling down from the ceiling to the drawn face before him. “From what part of France did he come?�
“From Dauphiné,� le Bossu retorted shortly.
“Humph!� ejaculated Père Ambroise, taking up a shoe from the bench and examining it critically. “From Dauphiné—and his name is—?�
Charlot laid down his work and looked the good father in the eye.