"
Cazeau linked his thin hands together with an action of pious
fervour and assented.
"There is a broken-hearted creature near us," pursued Patoux
leisurely--"We call her Marguerite La Folle;--I have often thought I
would ask Pere Laurent to speak to Monseigneur for her, that she
might be released from the devils that are tearing her. She was a
good girl till a year or two ago,--then some villain got the ruin of
her, and she lost her wits over it. Ah,'tis a sad sight to see her
now--poor Marguerite Valmond!"
"Ha!" cried Henri suddenly, pointing a grimy finger at Cazeau--"Why
did you jump? Did something hurt you?"
Cazeau had indeed "jumped," as Henri put it,--that is, he had sprung
up from his chair suddenly and as suddenly sat down again with an
air of impatience and discomfort. He rapidly overcame whatever
emotion moved him, however, and stretched his thin mouth in a would-
be amiable grin at the observant Henri.
"You are a sharp boy!" he observed condescendingly--"and tall for
your age, no doubt. How old are you?"
"Eleven," replied Henri--"But that has nothing to do with your
jumping."
"True," and the secretary wriggled in his chair, pretending to be
much amused--"But my jumping had nothing to do with you either, my
small friend! I had a thought,--a sudden thought,--of a duty
forgotten.
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