Cazeau hummed and hawed,--he was irritated yet vaguely amused too at
the singular self-assertion of these common folk who presumed to
take their moral measurement of an Archbishop! It is a strange fact,
but these same common folk always DO take these sorts of
measurements.
"The inconsistencies--(if there are any--) in the story will soon be
cleared up," he said, with a benevolent assumption of authority, "At
least, I hope so! I am glad to say that I am entrusted with a
message to the Archbishop from our Holy Father, the Pope,--and I
have also His Holiness's instructions to request you, Madame Doucet,
together with your son Fabien, to accompany me back to Rome!"
Martine Doucet bounced up from her chair, and let fall her knitting.
"Me--me!" she cried, "ME go to Rome! Never! Wild horses will not
drag me there, nor shall you take my Fabien either! What should I do
in Rome?"
"Testify personally to the truth of the Cardinal's miracle,"
answered Cazeau, gazing coldly at her excited face as though he saw
something altogether strange and removed from human semblance. "And
bring your child into the Holy Presence and relate his history. It
will be nothing but an advantage to you,--for you will obtain a
patient hearing, and the priceless boon of the Papal benediction!"
"Grand merci!" said Martine, "But I have lived more than half my
time without the Papal benediction, and I can work out the rest of
my days in the same way! Look you!--there is a great English Duke I
am told, who has an only son sorely afflicted, and he has taken this
son to every place in the world where the Church is supposed to work
miracles for the healing of the sick and the helpless,--all to no
use, for the poor boy is as sick and helpless as ever.
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