M. _le préfet_ shrugged his shoulders. He had a mind wise enough to see that there was nothing marvellous in the fulfilment of such a prophecy. But Lacarelle, with a profound knowledge of local affairs, a marvellously contagious stupidity, and an exceptional aptitude for self-delusion, immediately related to him three or four new stories which were running through the town, and especially the story of M. de Gromance, to whom Saint Radegonde had said, in reply to her visitor’s secret thought: “Be at ease, monsieur _le comte_; the child that your wife will bear is really your son.” Then Lacarelle returned to the disclosure of the hidden treasure. Two Roman coins had been found at the place indicated. The excavations were still going on. There had also been some cures of which the private secretary gave vague and rambling descriptions. M. _le préfet_ Worms-Clavelin listened uncomprehendingly. The mere idea of the Deniseau girl saddened and worried him. The influence of this visionary over the townsfolk at large was beyond his understanding. He was afraid of using his abilities ineffectively in a psychic case such as this. This fear paralysed his reason, although it was strong enough in ordinary circumstances. As he listened to Lacarelle, he experienced a dread of being convinced, and instinctively exclaimed brusquely: “I don’t believe in such things as these! I don’t believe in them!” But doubt and anxiety overwhelmed him. He wished to know what Abbé Guitrel, whom he regarded as both learned and intelligent, thought on the subject of this prophetess. It was just the time when he would meet the abbé at the goldsmith’s house. He went to Rondonneau junior’s, and found him in the inner room, nailing up a case, whilst Abbé Guitrel examined a silver-gilt vase set on a long stem and surmounted with a rounded lid. “That’s a fine chalice, isn’t it, monsieur l’abbé?” “It is a pyx, monsieur _le préfet_, a ciborium, a vessel intended _ad ferendos cibos_.[I] In fact, the pyx holds the sacred hosts, the food of the soul. Formerly they used to keep the pyx in a silver dove hung over the baptismal font, the altar, or the tomb of a martyr. This one is decorated in the style of the thirteenth century. An austere and magnificent style, very suitable, monsieur _le préfet_, for church furniture, and especially for the sacred vessels.” [I] To bear the bread. M. Worms-Clavelin was not listening to the priest, whose restless, crafty profile he was observing. “Here is the man,” thought he, “who is going to tell me about Saint Radegonde and the prophetess.” And the departmental representative of the Republic was already screwing up his courage, concentrating his energies, lest he should appear weak-minded, superstitious and credulous, before an ecclesiastic.