Rumours had come to the bishop’s ears that the liberal party among his clergy, in casting about for a suitable delegate at the approaching convocation, had mentioned the name of the curé of S. Cross. No name could possibly have been suggested more calculated to irritate monseigneur; and the bishop had arrived at Bernay with a settled determination to crush Lindet. The means were simple: he had but to sign his name and Lindet was cast adrift; but he must have some excuse for inhibiting him; and to provide him with this, Ponce, the _officiel_, was summoned to Bernay. The excuse was, however, ready, and awaiting his arrival,--an excuse a great deal more plausible than he had ventured to expect. The bishop had not been an hour in the château before Foulon had made him acquainted with ‘a scandal which had compromised Religion and the Church in that neighbourhood,’ and had told him how that Lindet had received a young woman into his house at midnight, and had not dismissed her till next morning, when he had sent her to his brother, the lawyer, to be his servant. Now it happened that the incident had caused no scandal in Bernay, as Foulon had predicted, for the musician had from his window witnessed what had taken place; Berthier’s character was well known in Bernay, and the disappearance of Gabrielle had been widely commented upon. A few malicious persons, perhaps, alluded to the priest’s part in recovering the girl, as indicating a very unaccountable interest in her, but the circumstance had roused a deep indignation against the Intendant in the breasts of the Bernay people, which was not allayed when it transpired through Lindet, that Madame Berthier, the protectress of the girl, had been carried off to Paris by soldiers, to be incarcerated in the Bastille. When Thomas Lindet reached Château Malouve, he was shown into the yellow room, once occupied by the afflicted lady, and which Berthier had surrendered to the prelate as his office during his stay. Lindet found the bishop seated near the window, at the head of a long table, beside which sat M. Ponce, acting as his secretary. Monseigneur de Narbonne bowed stiffly, without rising from his chair, or removing his biretta; his red face flushed purple as the priest entered, but gradually resumed its usual ruddy hue. ‘I have received a paper, which M. Ponce will do us the favour of reading,’ said the bishop in a pompous tone, without raising his eyes from the table, or for a moment looking the curé full in the face--‘a paper which contains grave charges of a moral nature against you, Robert Thomas Lindet--your name is correctly stated, is it not?’ ‘Yes, my Lord.’ ‘But your brother, the lawyer, is also Robert.’ ‘Monseigneur, his name in full is Jean Baptiste Robert.’ ‘Then you are both Robert?’ ‘Both, my Lord; but I have always been called by my second name.’ ‘M. Ponce, will you kindly----’ the bishop bent slightly towards his officer.