'That is what I seek to know.'
'Nothing, probably--a canard.'
'I cannot say.'
'I'll have inquiries made, and you shall be acquainted with the result.' The Englishman was still. 'Well, won't that content you?'
The reply was hardly to the question.
'I thank you, my father, for having forbidden me to take the vows.'
'You thank me--now? It's not so long ago since you were in despair, being fearful lest by my refusal I had slammed the gates of heaven in your face. How often have you besought me to let you enter on the holy life? How long is it since you lay three nights upon the chapel stones, broken-hearted, because I advised you still to meditate upon its threshold? Answer me, my son.'
'I was wrong. You were right, my father--as you always are.'
'As I always am? Our Lady and the Blessed Saints know better. In only one thing was I right--alas! that I should have to say it--I knew you better than you did yourself. How long have you been with us?'
'Nearly five years.'