fraid," I answered, "that our views upon this matter are too far
apart to render discussion profitable. You have spoken of those who have
the right to dispose of the child's future. I will go and see them."

"It is not necessary," Madame Richard answered. "We will send to England
for the child."

"Do I understand, Madame Richard," I said, "that you decline to give me
the address of those who stand behind you in the disposal of Isobel?"

"They would not discuss the matter with you," she answered calmly.
"Their decision is already made. Isobel is for the Church."

I took up my hat.

"I will not detain you any further, Madame," I said.

"A messenger is already in London to bring back the child," she
remarked.

"As to that," I answered, "it is perhaps better to be frank with you,
Madame Richard. Your messenger will return alone."

For the first time the woman's face showed some signs of feeling. Her
dark eyebrows contracted a little. Her expression was coldly repellent.

"You have no claim upon the child," she said.

"Neither do I know of any other person who has," I answered.

"We have had the charge of her for ten years. That itself is a claim. It
is unseemly that she should remain with you."

"Madame," I answered, "Isobel is meant for life--not a living death."

The woman crossed herself.

"There is but one life," she said. "We wish to prepare Isobel for it."

"Madame," I said, "as to that, argument between us is impossible. I
shall consult with my friends. Your messenger shall bring back word as
to our decision."

The face of the woman grew darker.

"But surely," she protested, "you will not dare to keep the child?"

"Madame," I answered, "humanity makes sometimes strange claims upon us.
Isobel is as yet a child. She came into my keeping by the strangest of
chances. I did not seek the charge of her. It was, to tell the truth, an
embarrassment to me. Yet she is under my care to-day, and I shall do
what I believe to be the right thing."

"Monsieur," she said, "you are interfering in matters greater than you
have any knowledge of."

"It is in your power," I reminded her, "to enlighten me."

"It is not a power which I am able to use," she answered.

"Then I will not detain you further, Madame," I said.

As I passed out she leaned over towards me. She had already rung a bell,
and outside I could hear the shuffling footsteps of the old servant who
had admitted me.

"Monsieur," she said, "if you ke