Robbins was also profoundly grieved at the imputation. But, until it was found what Mr. Morin had done with Madame Tibault's money, he feared the tongue of slander would not be stilled. Sometimes--in fact, very often--in affairs of the kind there was--er--as the saying goes--er--a lady in the case. In absolute confidence, now--if--perhaps-- Sister Félicité's large eyes regarded him solemnly. "There was one woman," she said, slowly, "to whom he bowed--to whom he gave his heart." Robbins fumbled rapturously for his pencil. "Behold the woman!" said Sister Félicité, suddenly, in deep tones. She reached a long arm and swept aside the curtain of the alcove. In there was a shrine, lit to a glow of soft colour by the light pouring through a stained-glass window. Within a deep niche in the bare stone wall stood an image of the Virgin Mary, the colour of pure gold. Dumars, a conventional Catholic, succumbed to the dramatic in the act. He bowed his head for an instant and made the sign of the cross. The somewhat abashed Robbins, murmuring an indistinct apology, backed awkwardly away. Sister Félicité drew back the curtain, and the reporters departed. On the narrow stone sidewalk of Bonhomme Street, Robbins turned to Dumars, with unworthy sarcasm. "Well, what next? Churchy law fem?" "Absinthe," said Dumars. With the history of the missing money thus partially related, some conjecture may be formed of the sudden idea that Madame Tibault's words seemed to have suggested to Robbins's brain. Was it so wild a surmise--that the religious fanatic had offered up his wealth--or, rather, Madame Tibault's--in the shape of a material symbol of his consuming devotion? Stranger things have been done in the name of worship. Was it not possible that the lost thousands were molded into that lustrous image? That the goldsmith had formed it of the pure and precious metal, and set it there, through some hope of a perhaps disordered brain to propitiate the saints and pave the way to his own selfish glory? That afternoon, at five minutes to three, Robbins entered the chapel door of the Little Sisters of Samaria. He saw, in the dim light, a crowd of perhaps a hundred people gathered to attend the sale. Most of them were members of various religious orders, priests and churchmen, come to purchase the paraphernalia of the chapel, lest they fall into desecrating hands. Others were business men and agents come to bid upon the realty. A clerical-looking brother had volunteered to wield the hammer, bringing to the office of auctioneer the anomaly of choice diction and dignity of manner. A few of the minor articles were sold, and then two assistants brought forward the image of the Virgin.