“My dear,” she said to him at once, “I have just heard something extremely sad. The Holy Father has been imprisoned.” “No, not really?” said Amédée, as if he were saying “pooh!” Arnica burst into sobs: “I knew, I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” “Come, come, darling,” went on Amédée, taking off his overcoat, without which he never went out for fear of a sudden change of temperature. “Just think! Everyone would know if anything had happened to the Holy Father. It would be in all the papers. And who could have imprisoned him?” “Valentine says it’s the Lodge.” Amédée looked at Arnica under the impression that she had taken leave of her senses. He said, however: “The Lodge? What Lodge?” “How can I tell? Valentine has promised not to say anything about it.” “Who told her?” “She forbade me to say.... A canon, who was sent by a cardinal, with his card----” Arnica understood nothing of public affairs and Madame de Saint-Prix’s story had left but a confused impression on her. The words “captivity” and “imprisonment” conjured up before her eyes dark and semi-romantic images; the word “crusade” thrilled her unspeakably, and when, at last, Amédée’s disbelief wavered and he talked of setting out at once, she suddenly saw him on horseback, in a helmet and breastplate.... As for him, he had begun by now to pace up and down the room. “In the first place,” he said, “it’s no use talking about money--we haven’t got any. And do you think I could be satisfied with merely giving money? Do you think I should be able to sleep in peace merely because I had sacrificed a few bank-notes?... Why, my dear, if this is true that you’ve been telling me, it’s an appalling thing and we mustn’t rest till we’ve done something. Appalling, do you understand me?” “Yes, yes, I quite understand, appalling!... But all the same, do explain why.” “Oh, if now I’ve got to explain!” and Amédée raised discouraged arms to Heaven. “No, no,” he went on, “this isn’t an occasion for giving money; it’s oneself that one must give. I’ll consult Blafaphas; we’ll see what he says.” “Valentine de Saint-Prix made me promise not to tell anyone,” put in Arnica, timidly. “Blafaphas isn’t anyone; and we’ll impress on him that he must keep it strictly to himself.” Then, turning towards her, he implored pathetically: “Arnica, my dearest, let me go!” She was sobbing. It was she now who insisted on Blafaphas coming to the rescue. Amédée was starting to fetch him, when he turned up of his own accord, knocking first at the drawing-room window, as was his habit. “Well! that’s the most singular story I ever heard in my life!” he cried when they had told him all about it. “No, really! Who would ever have thought of such a thing?” And then, before Fleurissoire had said anything of his intentions, he went on abruptly: “My dear fellow, there’s only one thing for us to do--set out at once.” “You see,” said Amédée, “it’s his first thought.”