"He would have nothing of that kind," she replied--"Soup maigre, and
afterwards nothing but bread, dried figs, and apples to finish. Ah,
Heaven! What a supper for a Cardinal-Archbishop! It is enough to
make one weep!"
Patoux considered the matter solemnly.
"He is perhaps very poor?" he half queried.
"Poor, he may be," responded Madame,--"But if he is, it is surely
his own fault,--whoever heard of a poor Cardinal-Archbishop! Such
men can all be rich if they choose."
"Can they?" asked Henri with sudden vivacious eagerness. "How?"
But his question was not answered, for just at that moment a loud
knock came at the door of the inn, and a tall broadly built
personage in close canonical attire appeared in the narrow little
passage of entry, attended by another smaller and very much more
insignificant-looking individual.
Patoux hastily scrambled out of his chair.
"The Archbishop!" he whispered to his wife--"He himself! Our own
Archbishop!"
Madame Patoux jumped up, and seizing her children, held one in each
hand as she curtsied up and down.
Benedicite!" said the new-comer, lightly signing the cross in air
with a sociable smile--"Do not disturb yourselves, my children! You
have with you in this house the eminent Cardinal Bonpre?"
"Ah, yes, Monseigneur!" replied Madame Patoux--"Only just now he has
finished his little supper.
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