He lost no time in crossing the Seine and seeking the church. As he passed the middle of the Pont Neuf—near the equestrian statue of Henry IV., a small man, meanly dressed, glided out of the shadow of a vehicle, and moved stealthily after him, his motions wary as a cat's. This man was Jude.
Germain arrived at the edifice, which adjoined the great abbey of the same name, and scanned its ancient spire and dilapidated façade for some moments before he entered, full of thought—"for here," said he "is the temple of my forefathers—the visible link that binds my origin to France." He passed in, regarding every pillar and ornament of its quaint, dark, Norman interior with the same fascination, and traversing its length, came to the sacristy behind the high altar. A young priest was standing there overlooking the operations of some workmen, and muttering his breviary.
"Messire, I am seeking information for which I wish to examine your parish registers," said Germain.
"It is an honour, sir," replied the priest. "What is the year?"
"1736."
"The books are here, sir," opening a cupboard in which various large volumes leaned against each other on the shelves. "This is 1736. May I assist you in finding the entry?"
"I am not sure what I need."
"I fear Monsieur will not find some of the entries easy reading."
"Time is not important to me, father," answered Germain cheerfully. "May I take the register to this table near the light?"
"With pleasure; but should the handwriting be difficult, speak to me. I am the archivist of the abbey." And thus saying he turned back to his workmen.