ay, to such a place, under such and such
circumstances, when the whole arrangement seems to your crude
apprehension the ordinance of chance, or the sequel of exigency. Madame
Beck's suddenly-recollected message and present, my artless embassy to
the Place of the Magi, the old priest accidentally descending the steps
and crossing the square, his interposition on my behalf with the bonne
who would have sent me away, his reappearance on the staircase, my
introduction to this room, the portrait, the narrative so affably
volunteered--all these little incidents, taken as they fell out, seemed
each independent of its successor; a handful of loose beads: but
threaded through by that quick-shot and crafty glance of a Jesuit-eye,
they dropped pendent in a long string, like that rosary on the
prie-dieu. Where lay the link of junction, where the little clasp of
this monastic necklace? I saw or felt union, but could not yet find the
spot, or detect the means of connection.

Perhaps the musing-fit into which I had by this time fallen, appeared
somewhat suspicious in its abstraction; he gently interrupted:
"Mademoiselle," said he, "I trust you have not far to go through these
inundated streets?"

"More than half a league."

"You live----?"

"In the Rue Fossette."

"Not" (with animation), "not at the pensionnat of Madame Beck?"

"The same."

"Donc" (clapping his hands), "donc, vous devez connaitre mon noble
eleve, mon Paul?"

"Monsieur Paul Emanuel, Professor of Literature?"

"He and none other."

A brief silence fell. The spring of junction seemed suddenly to have
become palpable; I felt it yield to pressure.

"Was it of M. Paul you have been speaking?" I presently inquired. "Was
he your pupil and the benefactor of Madame Walravens?"

"Yes, and of Agnes, the old servant: and moreover, (with a certain
emphasis), he was and _is_ the lover, true, constant and eternal, of
that saint in heaven--Justine Marie."

"And who, father, are _you?_" I continued; and though I accentuated the
question, its utterance was well nigh superfluous; I was ere this quite
prepared for the answer which actually came.

"I, daughter, am Pere Silas; that unworthy son of Holy Church whom you
once honoured with a noble and touching confidence, showing me the core
of a heart, and the inner shrine of a mind whereof, in solemn truth, I
coveted the direction, in behalf of the only true faith. Nor have I for
a day lost sight of you, nor for an hour fa