A few minutes afterwards he was standing in the presence of the Father Superior. Without a word of introduction he laid upon the table at which the Prior sat the scrap of paper which he had found beneath the currant-bush. The monk glanced from it to his visitor. 'What is this, my son?' 'If you will look at that paper, father, you will see.' They had spoken in French; but that the Prior understood English was made clear by the evident ease with which he read the printed extract. As his visitor had done, he gave it a second and a third perusal. Looking down, he drummed with his fingertips upon the board. Then, glancing up at the Englishman, he addressed him in his own language. 'Where did you get this?' Its finder explained. 'What does it mean?' 'That is what I seek to know.' 'Nothing, probably--a canard.' 'I cannot say.' 'I'll have inquiries made, and you shall be acquainted with the result.' The Englishman was still. 'Well, won't that content you?' The reply was hardly to the question. 'I thank you, my father, for having forbidden me to take the vows.' 'You thank me--now? It's not so long ago since you were in despair, being fearful lest by my refusal I had slammed the gates of heaven in your face. How often have you besought me to let you enter on the holy life? How long is it since you lay three nights upon the chapel stones, broken-hearted, because I advised you still to meditate upon its threshold? Answer me, my son.' 'I was wrong. You were right, my father--as you always are.' 'As I always am? Our Lady and the Blessed Saints know better. In only one thing was I right--alas! that I should have to say it--I knew you better than you did yourself. How long have you been with us?' 'Nearly five years.' 'So long? Are we so much nearer to the Day of Judgment? What were you when you came?' 'A thing to mock at.' 'Ay, indeed, a thing to mock at; a thing to make the angels weep. And, like many another, you desired to beat your head against the Cross, hoping by a little agony to atone for a life of sin. And have you raised yourself a little from the ditch?' 'Else were I a wretch indeed.' 'That are we all--miserable wretches! It has been my constant grief, in your particular case, that it was written that the first-fruits of your mother's womb should be unstable as water; that he should not excel. May my grief be turned to joy! So you have been beneath this holy roof five years? And now--what now?' 'I seek to leave you.' 'To leave us? You propose to join a fraternity in which the ordinance is more severe?' 'I wish to go back into the world again.' The Prior raised his hands with a show of surprise which was possibly more feigned than real.