e argued that his own fitness for aristocratic
society must have a hereditary explanation and that, were he able to
trace his lineage a short distance backward he would discover some
higher status fallen from by his family through misfortune. On the day
of de Grancey's departure, he began to place together the straws of
information which might guide him. He had once heard his father speak of
having left France at the age of twelve years. Was he a kidnapped and
deported heir? Was he a cadet of some reduced family?

Again, on one of the rare occasions when Lecour senior referred to the
past--a winter's evening chat by the fire-side with the cure of the
parish--he had described his boyish recollection of the interior of the
Paris church of St. Germain-des-Pres, then the family church of his
family. Was his own name taken from its patron saint? Would its
registers contain records of the Lecours?

He knew at least his father's age--born in 1736, it would make him--yes,
and also his birth month, June. Here were straws to start by.

He lost no time in crossing the Seine and seeking the church. As he
passed the middle of the Pont Neuf--near the equestrian statue of Henry
IV., a small man, meanly dressed, glided out of the shadow of a vehicle,
and moved stealthily after him, his motions wary as a cat's. This man
was Jude.

Germain arrived at the edifice, which adjoined the great abbey of the
same name, and scanned its ancient spire and dilapidated facade for some
moments before he entered, full of thought--"for here," said he "is the
temple of my forefathers--the visible link that binds my origin to
France." He passed in, regarding every pillar and ornament of its
quaint, dark, Norman interior with the same fascination, and traversing
its length, came to the sacristy behind the high altar. A young priest
was standing there overlooking the operations of some workmen, and
muttering his breviary.

"Messire, I am seeking information for which I wish to examine your
parish registers," said Germain.

"It is an honour, sir," replied the priest. "What is the year?"

"1736."

"The books are here, sir," opening a cupboard in which various large
volumes leaned against each other on the shelves. "This is 1736. May I
assist you in finding the entry?"

"I am not sure what I need."

"I fear Monsieur will not find some of the entries easy reading."

"Time is not important to me, father," answered Germain cheerfully. "May
I take th