d at the Manor Cartier
or saw his grand-daughter. His own career of late years had been marked
by long sojourns in Quebec, Montreal and even New York; yet he always
came back to St. Saviour's when he was penniless, and was there started
afresh by Jean Jacques. Some said that Carmen had gone back to Spain,
but others discredited that, for, if she had done so, certainly old
Sebastian Dolores would have gone also. Others continued to insist that
she had gone off with a man; but there was George Masson at Laplatte
living alone, and never going twenty miles away from home, and he was
the only person under suspicion. Others again averred that since her
flight Carmen had become a loose woman in Montreal; but the New Cure
came down on that with a blow which no one was tempted to invite again.

M. Savry's method of punishing was of a kind to make men shrink. If
Carmen Barbille had become a loose woman in Montreal, how did any member
of his flock know that it was the case? What company had he kept in
Montreal that he could say that? Did he see the woman--or did he hear
about her? And if he heard, what sort of company was he keeping when he
went to Montreal without his wife to hear such things? That was final,
and the slanderer was under a cloud for a time, by reason of the anger
of his own wife. It was about this time that the good priest preached
from the text, "Judge not that ye be not judged," and said that there
were only ten commandments on the tables of stone; but that the ten
included all the commandments which the Church made for every man, and
which every man, knowing his own weakness, must also make for himself.

His flock understood, though they did refrain, every one, from looking
towards the place where Jean Jacques sat with Ma'm'selle--she was always
called that, as though she was a great lady; or else she was called "the
little Ma'm'selle Zoe," even when she had grown almost as tall as her
mother had been.

Though no one looked towards the place where Jean Jacques and his
daughter sat when this sermon was preached, and although Zoe seemed not
to apprehend personal reference in the priest's words, when she reached
home, after talking to her father about casual things all the way, she
flew to her room, and, locking the door, flung herself on her bed and
cried till her body felt as though it had been beaten by rods. Then
she suddenly got up and, from a drawer, took out two things--an old
photograph of her mother at