After a long wait the porter returned, accompanied by the same sour-looking ecclesiastic whom Fifi had met on her previous visit; and he escorted her to the door of the Pope’s chamber.
The door was opened for her, and Fifi found herself once more in the presence of the Pope. She ran forward and kissed his hand, and the Holy Father patted her hand kindly.
“Well, my child,” he said, “I hear strange things of you. The Bourcets conveyed to me early this morning that you have left their house, given up the marriage with the respectable young advocate, Louis Bourcet, and bestowed all your fortune on charity. I have been anxious about you.”
“Pray don’t be so any more, Holy Father,” said Fifi, smiling brightly and seating herself on a little chair the Holy Father motioned her to take. “I never was so happy in my life as I am now. I hated the idea of marrying Louis Bourcet.”
“Then you should not have agreed to marry him.”
“Oh, Holy Father, you can’t imagine how it dazes one to be suddenly overwhelmed with riches, to be taken away from all one knows and loves, to be compelled to be idle when one would work—to be, in short, transplanted to another world. At first, I would have agreed to anything.”
“I understand. Now, open your heart to me as to your father.”
“I was very wretched after I got the money. I was idle, I was unhappy, I was unloved—and I had been used to being busy, to being happy, to being loved. And what gave me the courage to rebel was, that I found out I loved Cartouche. Holy Father, he is my only friend—” An expression in the Holy Father’s eyes made Fifi quickly correct herself. “Was my only friend. And when I thought of being married, I could not imagine life without Cartouche. So, I made up my mind to marry him. But Cartouche said he was neither young nor rich, nor handsome, and with my youth and newly-acquired fortune, I ought to marry above him. I do not claim that Cartouche is what is called—a—” Fifi hesitated, the term “brilliant marriage” not being known in the street of the Black Cat. But the Holy Father suggested it with a smile—
“A brilliant marriage?”
“Yes, Holy Father, that is what I mean. But he is the best of men; I shiver when I think what would have become of me without Cartouche. And he is as brave as a lion—he was the first man across at the bridge of Lodi—and the Emperor was the second. And he serves Duvernet, the manager, just as faithfully as he served his country. Cartouche has charge of all sorts of things at the theater, and he would die rather than let any one swindle the manager.”