Once Juliette discovered him thus, having come to the observatory to tell him that his dinner had been waiting for half an hour, and for a while watched him unnoted with the little shaded lamp shining on his face. Instantly, in her quick fashion, she christened him, _Hibou_, and _Hibou_ or Owl, became his nickname in that establishment. Indeed, with his dark eyes and strongly marked features, wrapped in a contemplative calm such as the study of the stars engenders, in that gloom he did look something like an owl, however different may have been his appearance on other occasions. “What are you thinking of, Monsieur Godfrey?” she asked. He came back to earth with a start. “The stars and Man,” he answered, colouring. “_Mon Dieu!_” she exclaimed, “I think man is enough to study without the stars, which we shall never visit.” “How do you know that, Mademoiselle?” “I know it because we are here and they are there, far, far away. Also we die and they go on for ever.” “What is space, and what are death and time?” queried Godfrey, with solemnity. “_Mon Dieu!_” said Juliette again. “Come to dinner, the chicken it grows cold,” but to herself she added, “He is an odd bird, this English _hibou_, but attractive—when he is not so grave.” Meanwhile Godfrey continued to ponder his mighty problem. When he had mastered enough French in which Madame and Juliette proved efficient instructors, he propounded it to the old Pasteur, who clapped his hand upon a Bible, and said: “_There_ is the answer, young friend.” “I know,” replied Godfrey, “but it does not quite satisfy; I feel that I must find that answer for myself.” Monsieur Boiset removed his blue spectacles and looked at him. “Such searches are dangerous,” he said. “Believe me, Godfrey, it is better to accept.” “Then why do you find fault with the Roman Catholics, Monsieur?” The question was like a match applied to a haystack. At once the Pasteur took fire: “Because they accept error, not truth,” he began. “What foundation have they for much of their belief? It is not here,” and again he slapped the Bible. Then followed a long tirade, for the one thing this good and tolerant old man could not endure was the Roman Catholic branch of the Christian Faith. Godfrey listened with patience, till at last the Pasteur, having burnt himself out, asked him if he were not convinced. “I do not know,” he replied. “These quarrels of the Churches and of the different faiths puzzle and tire me. I, too, Monsieur, believe in God and a future life, but I do not think it matters much by what road one travels to them, I mean so long as it is a road.” The Pasteur looked at him alarmed, and exclaimed: “Surely you will not be a fish caught in the net which already I have observed that cunning and plausible curé trying to throw about you! Oh! what then should I answer to your father?”