"I am an old man. I cannot give the personal help this great town requires at my hands. Strength and opportunity are no longer mine, but at least I can pronounce the blessing of God upon those who, like you, are using them for His poor." There was something of grandeur in his face and attitude; M. Deshoulieres, much moved, rose up and stood silent. He had never before realised in the Bishop's character the force which lay hidden behind an easy good-nature. At this moment a bell rang. "That is Monsieur Pinot," said the Bishop, relapsing into a smile. "I shall not see him." "Monseigneur, all this time we have not spoken of yourself." "I did not send to you for that purpose. I believe your friend is doing me no harm, and it would give him so much satisfaction to cure me that I must let him have the chance for once. But if he fails, I bargain that Andre Triquet's grandson and I change doctors." "Nevertheless, I shall put a few questions," said M. Deshoulieres. When these were over, the Bishop, who liked a little gossip, detained him. "Is your strange trusteeship still going on?" "As it was." "And you have received no tidings of the young man? It is peculiar, very peculiar. There was a girl, also, left under your charge, was there not?" Max flushed slightly. The last night's thoughts, which occupation had hunted out of his mind, came back like a torrent. He caught a glimpse of himself in a great velvet-bordered mirror which stood over the chimney-piece, he looked old, grave, unlike a lover for Therese. "Mademoiselle Veuillot has found a temporary home, Monseigneur, at the house of Ignace Roulleau, the notary in Rue St Servan. The conditions of her small legacy require her to remain in Charville." "She might be received at our convent," suggested the Bishop gravely. M. Deshoulieres made no answer beyond taking leave. CHAPTER TEN. "Have I not nursed, for two long wretched years, That miserable hope, that every day Grew weaker, like a baby sick to death, Yet dearer for its weakness, day by day?" Madoc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ After that evening walk from the river Therese told Nannon she thought that M. Deshoulieres was kinder than she had fancied. Nannon, whose prejudices were invincible, shook her head. "He may be kind when he pleases, I do not deny it, but he is as hard as a stone." "Every one is hard, I think," said Therese, sadly.