For the showman was trembling. In the Paris of that day the name of Father Bernard was almost as well known as the name of Cardinal Richelieu. There was not a night-prowler or cutpurse, bully or swindler, who did not know it, and dream in his low fits, when the drink was out and the money spent, of the day when he would travel by Father Bernard's side to Montfaucon, and find no other voice and no other eye to pity him in his trouble. Impelled by feelings of humanity, rare at that time, this man made it his life-work to attend on all who were cast for execution; to wait on them in prison, and be with them at the last, and by his presence and words of comfort to alleviate their sufferings here, and bring them to a better mind. He had become so well known in this course of work that the king himself did him honour, and the Cardinal granted him special rights. The mob also. The priest passed unharmed through the lowest wynds of Paris, and penetrated habitually to places where the Lieutenant of the Châtelet, with a dozen pikes at his back, would not have been safe for a moment. This was the man whose stern voice brought the showman to a standstill. Master Crafty Eyes faltered. Then he remembered that the boy was his boy, that his title to him was good. He said so sulkily. "Your boy?" the priest replied, frowning. "Who are you, then?" "An acrobat, father." "So I thought. But do acrobats' boys wear black velvet clothes with silver buttons?" "He was stolen from me," the showman answered eagerly. He had a good conscience as to the clothes. "I have only just recovered him, father." "Who stole him? Where has he been?" The priest spoke quickly, and with no little excitement. He looked narrowly at the boy the while, holding him at arm's length. "Where did he spend last night, for instance?" The showman spread out his palms and shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know?" he said. "I was not with him." "He has black hair and blue eyes!" "Yes. But what of that?" Crafty Eyes answered. "I can swear to him. He is my boy." "And mine!" Father Bernard retorted with energy. "The boy I want!" The priest's eyes sparkled, his form seemed to dilate with triumph. "Deo laus! Deo laus!" he murmured sonorously, so that a score of loiterers who had gathered round, and were staring and shivering by turns, fell back affrighted and crossed themselves. "He is the boy! God has put him in my way this day as clearly as if an angel had led me by the hand. And he goes with me; he goes with me. Chut, man!"--this to the showman, who stood frowning in his path--"don't dare to look black at me. The boy goes with me, I say. I want him for a purpose. If you choose you can come too." "Whither?" "To the Châtelet," Father Bernard answered, with a grim chuckle. "You don't seem to relish the idea. But do as you please." "You will take the boy?" "This moment," the priest answered.