le philosophies for the
world," said M. Rossignol, and then knocked at the door.

"I will go in alone, Maurice," the Cure urged. "Good-you are right,"
answered the other. "I will go write the proclamation denying strangers
the valley after Wednesday. I will enforce it, too," he added, with
vigour, and, turning, walked up the street, as Mrs. Flynn admitted the
Cure to the post-office.

A half-hour later M. Loisel again appeared at the post-office door, a
pale, beautiful face at his shoulder.

He had not been brave enough to say what was on his mind. But as he bade
her good-bye, he plucked up needful courage.

"Forgive me, Rosalie," he said, "but I have sometimes thought that you
have more griefs than one. I have thought"--he paused, then went on
bravely--"that there might be--there might be unwelcomed love, or love
deceived."

A mist came before her eyes, but she quietly and firmly answered: "I
have never been deceived in love, Monsieur Loisel."

"There, there!" he hurriedly and gently rejoined. "Do not be hurt, my
child. I only want to help you." A moment afterwards he was gone.

As the door closed behind him, she drew herself proudly up.

"I have never been deceived," she said aloud. "I love him--love
him--love him."

CHAPTER LIV. M. ROSSIGNOL SLIPS THE LEASH

It was the last day of the Passion Play, and the great dramatic mission
was drawing to a close. The confidence of the Cure and the Seigneur was
restored. The prohibition against strangers had had its effect, and for
three whole days the valley had been at rest again. Apparently there was
not a stranger within its borders, save the Seigneur's brother, the Abbe
Rossignol, who had come to see the moving spectacle.

The Abbe, on his arrival, had made inquiries concerning the tailor of
Chaudiere and Jo Portugais, as persistently about the one as the other.
Their secrets had been kept inviolate by him.

It was disconcerting to hear the tales people told of the tailor's
charity and wisdom. It was all dangerous, for what was, accidentally,
no evil in this particular instance, might be the greatest disaster
in another case. Principle was at stake. He heard in stern silence the
Cure's happy statement that Jo Portugais had returned to the bosom of
the Church, and attended Mass regularly.

"So it may be, my dear Abbe," said M. Loisel, "that the friendship
between him and our 'infidel' has been the means of helping Portugais. I
hope their friendship will