"Well?" said the priest.
"Somebody threw a crucifix in at his cell-window to-day, and he broke it up and threw it out again," the messenger said eagerly.
The priest's face blushed an angry red. "Have they no more reverence for the crucifix than to use it as a means of insult, and expose it in turn to be insulted?" he exclaimed. "Was it done by a Catholic? Do you know who did it?"
F. Chevreuse was putting on his overcoat and searching for his hat, to the great terror of the indiscreet tale-bearer.
"I don't know who did it," he stammered. "I guess it was some boys. But that was this morning; and now the police drive everybody away from that side of the jail. I am sure they won't do such a thing again, father."
The priest perceived the boy's distress in spite of his own preoccupation. "Never mind, Johnny," he said kindly, and tried to smile as he laid his hand on that young head. "You did no harm in telling me; I ought to know if such things happen. Come, I am going out, and our roads are the same for a little way. You are going to dinner? Well, thank your father for me, and say that I shall go only to the jail, and directly home again."
"And what has he gone to the jail for?" Mr. Macon inquired in surprise when he received this message from his son.
The boy answered truthfully enough, but with a somewhat guilty conscience, that he did not know, and sat down to his dinner, which he was unable to eat. His round cheeks were burning like live coals with excitement, and his heart was trembling with the thought that it was he who had sent the priest on that errand.
"You must learn to bear excitement better, my son," the mother said. "It will never do for you to be in court every day, if it is going to make you lose your appetite."
Thus admonished, Johnny called back his courage. "Oh! I'm not excited at all, mother," he said, with a fine air of carelessness. "It is only that I am not hungry. Why, all the men in the court-house, except the judge, were more excited than I was; weren't they, father?"