"Ask me not to explain it, my good daughter; it is a manifestation of psychic power beyond human explanation," he replied, hastily quitting the room to seek the mother superior.
As a result of his interview with her, he was soon on his way toward Esplanade Street and Mme. Lorraine.
Seldom had the footsteps of such a holy man crossed the threshold of the gay and volatile French woman. She grew pale through her rouge and her powder when she read the name upon his card, and sent word that she was not at home.
He told the little page that he would wait until madame returned, and took a seat in the quiet salon.
Angry and baffled, Mme. Lorraine came down to him.
"Bénedicité, daughter," said Father Quentin; but she looked at him inquiringly, without bending her lovely head.
"I have come to see Eliot Van Zandt, who lies wounded in your house," he said, boldly.
She gave a quick, nervous start, perfectly perceptible to his eyes, and her glance sought his, full of frightened inquiry.
"The girl was right; he is hidden here," he thought, with fluttering pulses; but aloud he said, with pretended authority and outward calmness:
"Lead me to his presence; I must see the young man at once."