"If it is true," he concluded, "I will endeavor to lead her to the light and truth, although her soul is full of shadows and the divine spark is clogged with ashes. Oh, heaven, may she be filled with the temptation to do good and mayest thou receive her in thy endless mercifulness!" The squeaking of the gravel under a regular and heavy step induced him to look round, and a burly shape loomed up in the darkness between the plane trees. It was the so-called Cantagnac, who bowed, with his hat off. "I have been hunting for you everywhere," he said jovially. "I want to say good-bye without company by, for it makes me timid, ha, ha! though you would not think it. Nice wholesome air, here! cool, decidedly cool, but wholesome. Doing a solitary smoke over a new invention?" "No, monsieur, I was conversing." "Eh! but I do not see anybody!" "I was conversing with Nature." "Oh, what the poet-fellows call musing, eh?" "A kind of prayer." "I see! well, his church is always open and you can go to service anytime, and day or night! and no collection-plate, ha, ha!" "I make it a practice every day, if only briefly." "Quite right! quite! I am inclined that way myself, since I lost my wife and our boy. He said something about hoping to meet me one day up there!" and he flourished his handkerchief about his eyes and toward the clouds. "Blessed relief to pray and do you really get an answer now and then? in time, no doubt, for it's a great way off!" "Do you not believe in heaven, M. Cantagnac?" demanded Clemenceau, bluntly. In the twilight and loneliness, the question struck home, and the spy felt compelled to make some answer.