To the great horde of starving European nobility the daughters of American millionaires have dropped as heavenly manna. It was but dire necessity that forced low the bars of social caste to the transoceanic traffic between fortune and title.

That Mrs. Hawley-Crowles might ever aspire to the purchase of a decrepit dukedom had never entered her thought. A tottering earldom was likewise beyond her purchasing power. She had contented herself that Carmen should some day barter her rare culture, her charm, and her unrivaled beauty, for the more lowly title of an impecunious count or baron. But to what heights of ecstasy did her little soul rise when the young Duke of Altern made it known to her that he would honor her beautiful ward with his own glorious name––in exchange for La Libertad and other good and valuable considerations, receipt of which would be duly acknowledged.

“I––aw––have spoken to her, ye know, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles,” that worthy young cad announced one afternoon, as he sat alone with the successful society leader in the warm glow of her living room. “And––bah Jove! she said we were engaged, ye know––really! Said we were awfully good friends, ye know, and all that. ’Pon my word! she said she loved me.” For Reginald had done much thinking of late––and his creditors were restless.

“Why, you don’t mean it!” cried the overpowered Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, beaming like a full-blown sunflower.

“But I do, really! Only––ye know, she’ll have to be––coached a bit, ye know––told who we are––our ancestral history, and all that. You know what I mean, eh?”

“Of course––you dear boy! Why, she just couldn’t help loving you!”

“No––aw––no, of course––that is––aw––she has excellent prospects––financial, I mean, eh? Mines, and all that, ye know––eh?”

“Why, she owns the grandest gold mine in all South America! Think of it!”

“Bah Jove! I––aw––I never was so attracted to a girl in all me blooming life! You will––a––speak to her, eh? Help me out, ye know. Just a few words, eh? You know what I mean?”

“Never fear, Reginald” she’s yours. “There will be no opposition.”

“Opposition! Certainly not––not when she knows about our family. And––aw––mother will talk with you––that is, about the details. She’ll arrange them, ye know. I never was good at business.”

And the haughty mother of the young Duke did call shortly thereafter to consult in regard to her son’s matrimonial desires. The nerve-racking round of balls, receptions, and other society functions was quite forgotten by the elated Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, whose ears tingled deliciously under the pompous boastings of the Dowager Lady Altern. The house of Altern? Why, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles was convinced, after a half hour’s conversation with this proud mother, that the royal house of Brunswick was but an impudent counterfeit! What was La Libertad worth? She knew not. But her sister’s brother, Mr. Reed, who had hastily appraised it, had said that there was a mountain of gold there, only awaiting Yankee enterprise. And Carmen? There was proof positive that she was an Inca princess. Yes, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles was so honored by the deep interest which the young Duke manifested in the wonderful girl! And she would undertake negotiations with 168 her at once. But it must be done wisely. Carmen was not like other girls. No, indeed!

And now Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had to plan very carefully. She was terribly in debt; yet she had resources. The Beaubien was inexhaustible. Ames, too, might be depended upon. And La Libertad––well, there was Mr. Philip O. Ketchim to reckon with. So she forthwith summoned him to a consultation.

But, ere her talk with that prince of finance, another bit of good fortune fell into the lady’s spacious lap. Reed had written that he was doing poorly with his western mining ventures, and would have to raise money at once. He therefore offered to sell his interest in the SimitÍ Company. Moreover, he wanted his wife to come to him and make her home in California, where he doubtless would spend some years. Mrs. Hawley-Crowles offered him twenty-five thousand dollars for his SimitÍ interest; of which offer Reed wired his immediate acceptance. Then the lady packed her rueful sister Westward Ho! and laid her newly acquired stock before the Beaubien for a large loan. That was but a day before Ketchim called.

“Madam,” said that suave gentleman, smiling piously, “you are a genius. Our ability to announce the Duke of Altern as our largest stockholder will result in a boom in the sales of SimitÍ stock. The Lord has greatly prospered our humble endeavors. Er––might I ask, Madam, if you would condescend to meet my wife some afternoon? We are rapidly acquiring some standing in a financial way, and Mrs. Ketchim would like to know you and some of the more desirable members of your set, if it might be arranged.”

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles beamed her joy. She drew herself up with a regnant air. The people were coming to her, their social queen, for recognition!

“And there’s my Uncle Ted, you know, Madam. He’s president of the C. and R.”

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles nodded and looked wise. “Possibly we can arrange it,” she said. “But now about our other investments. What is Joplin Zinc doing?”

“Progressing splendidly, Madam. We shall declare a dividend this month.”

The lady wondered, for Joplin Zinc was not yet in operation, according to the latest report.

Meantime, while Mrs. Hawley-Crowles was still laying her plans to herd the young girl into the mortgaged dukedom of Altern, Father Waite kept his appointment, and called at the Beaubien mansion on the afternoon Carmen had set. He was 169 warmly received by the girl herself, who had been watching for his coming.

“Now,” she began like a bubbling fountain, when they were seated in the music room, “where’s Jude? I want to find her.”

“Jude? Why, I haven’t the slightest idea to whom you refer,” returned the puzzled man.

“The woman who took me to the Sister Superior,” explained Carmen.

“Ah! We never saw her again.”

“Well,” said the girl confidently, “I saw her, but she got away from me. But I shall find her––it is right that I should. Now tell me, what are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. Earn my living some way,” he replied meditatively.

“You have lots of friends who will help you?”

“None,” he said sadly. “I am an apostate, you know.”

“Well, that means that you’re free. The chains have dropped, haven’t they?”

“But left me dazed and confused.”

“You are not dazed, nor confused! Why, you’re like a prisoner coming out of his dungeon into the bright sunlight. You’re only blinking, that’s all. And, as for confusion––well, if I would admit it to be true I could point to a terrible state of it! Just think, a duke wants to marry me; Mrs. Hawley-Crowles is determined that he shall; I am an Inca princess, and yet I don’t know who I am; my own people apparently are swallowed up by the war in Colombia; and I am in an environment here in New York in which I have to fight every moment to keep myself from flying all to pieces! But I guess God intends to keep me here for the present. Oh, yes, and Monsignor Lafelle insists that I am a Catholic and that I must join his Church.”

“Monsignor Lafelle! You––you know him?”

“Oh, yes, very well. And you?”

He evaded reply by another query. “Is Monsignor Lafelle working with Madam Beaubien, your friend?”

“I think not,” laughed Carmen. “But Mrs. Hawley-Crowles––”

“Was it through him that she became a communicant?”

“Yes. Why?”

“And is he also working with Mr. J. Wilton Ames? He converted Mrs. Ames’s sister, the Dowager Duchess, in England. The young Duke is also going to join the faith, I learn. But––you?” He stopped suddenly and looked searchingly at her.

At that moment a maid entered, bearing a card. Close on her heels followed the subject of their conversation, Monsignor himself.

As he entered, Carmen rose hastily to greet him. Lafelle bent over her hand. Then, as he straightened up, his glance fell upon Father Waite. The latter bowed without speaking. For a moment the two men stood eying each other sharply. Then Lafelle looked from Father Waite to Carmen quizzically. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I was not aware that you had a caller. Madam Beaubien, is she at home?”

“No,” said Carmen simply. “She went out for a ride.”

“Ah!” murmured Lafelle, looking significantly from the girl to Father Waite, while a smile curled his lips. “I see. I will intrude no further.” He bowed again, and turned toward the exit.

“Wait!” rang forth Carmen’s clear voice. She had caught the churchman’s insinuating glance and instantly read its meaning. “Monsignor Lafelle, you will remain!”

The churchman’s brows arched with surprise, but he came back and stood by the chair which she indicated.

“And first,” went on the girl, standing before him like an incarnate Nemesis, her face flushed and her eyes snapping, “you will hear from me a quotation from the Scripture, on which you assume to be authority: ‘As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he!’”

For a moment Lafelle flushed. Then his face darkened. Finally a bland smile spread over his features, and he sat down. The girl resumed her seat.

“Now, Monsignor Lafelle,” she continued severely, “you have urged me to unite with your Church. When you asked me to subscribe to your beliefs I looked first at them, and then at you, their product. You have come here this afternoon to plead with me again. The thoughts which you accepted when you saw Father Waite here alone with me, are they a reflection of love, which thinketh no evil? Or do they reflect the intolerance, the bigotry, the hatred of the carnal mind? You told me that your Church would not let me teach it. Think you I will let it or you teach me?”

Father Waite sat amazed at the girl’s stinging rebuke. When she concluded he rose to go.

“No!” said Carmen. “You, too, shall remain. You have left the Church of which Monsignor Lafelle is a part. Either you have done that Church, and him, a great injustice––or he does ignorant or wilful wrong in insisting that I unite with it.”

“My dear child,” said Lafelle gently, now recovered and wholly on his guard, “your impetuosity gets the better of your judgment. This is no occasion for a theological discussion, nor are you sufficiently informed to bear a part in such. As for myself, you unintentionally do me great wrong. As I have 171 repeatedly told you, I seek only your eternal welfare. Else would I not labor with you as I do.”

Carmen turned to Father Waite. “Is my eternal welfare dependent upon acceptance of the Church’s doctrines?”

“No,” he said, in a scarcely audible voice.

A cynical look came into Lafelle’s eyes. But he replied affably: “When preachers fall out, the devil falls in. Your reply, Mr. Waite, comes quite consistently from one who has impudently tossed aside authority.”

“My authority, Monsignor,” returned the ex-priest in a low tone, “is Jesus Christ, who said: ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.’”

“Ah!” murmured Lafelle; “then it was love that prompted you to abandon your little flock?”

“I left my pulpit, Monsignor, because I had nothing to give my people. I no longer believe the dogmas of the Church. And I refused longer to take the poor people’s money to support an institution so politically religious as I believe your Church to be. I could no longer take their money to purchase the release of their loved ones from an imagined purgatory––a place for which there is not the slightest Scriptural warrant––”

“You mistake, sir!” interrupted Lafelle in an angry tone.

“Very well, Monsignor,” replied Father Waite; “grant, then, that there is such Scriptural warrant; I would nevertheless know that the existence of purgatory was wholly incompatible with the reign of an infinite God of love. And, knowing that, I have ceased to extort gifts of money from the ignorance of the living and the ghastly terrors of the dying––”

“And so deceive yourself that you are doing a righteous act in removing their greatest consolation,” the churchman again interrupted, a sneer curving his lip.

“Consolation! The consolation which the stupifying drug affords, yes! Ah, Monsignor, as I looked down into the faces of my poor people, week after week, I knew that no sacerdotal intervention was needed to remit their sins, for their sins were but their unsolved problems of life. Oh, the poor, grief-stricken mothers who bent their tear-stained eyes upon me as I preached the ‘authority’ of the Fathers! Well I knew that, when I told them from my pulpit that their deceased infants, if baptized, went straight to heaven, they blindly, madly accepted my words! And when I went further and told them that their dead babes had joined the ranks of the blessed, and could thenceforth be prayed to, could I wonder that they rejoiced and eagerly grasped the false message of cheer? They believed because they wanted it to be so. And yet those utterances of mine, 172 based upon the accepted doctrine of Holy Church, were but narcotics, lulling those poor, afflicted minds into a false sense of rest and security, and checking all further human progress.”

Lafelle shrugged his shoulders. “It is to be regretted,” he said coldly, “that such narrowness of view should be permitted to impede the salvation of souls.”

“Salvation––of––souls!” exclaimed Father Waite. “Ah, how many souls have I not saved!––and yet I know not whether they or I be really saved! Saved? From what? From death? Certainly not! From misery, disease, suffering in this life? No, alas, no! Saved, then, from what? Ah, my friend, saved only from the torments of a hell and a purgatory constructed in the fertile minds of busy theologians!”

Lafelle turned to Carmen. “Some other day, perhaps––when it may be more convenient for us both––and you are alone––”

Carmen laughed. “Don’t quit the field, Monsignor––unless you surrender abjectly. You started this controversy, remember. And you were quite indiscreet, if you will recall.”

Monsignor bowed, smiling. “You write my faults in brass,” he gently lamented. “When you publish my virtues, if you find that I am possessed of any, I fear you will write them in water.”

Carmen laughed again. “Your virtues should advertise themselves, Monsignor.”

“Ah, then do you not see in me the virtue of desiring your welfare above all else, my child?”

“And the welfare of this great country, which you have come here to assist in making dominantly Catholic, is it not so, Monsignor?”

Lafelle started slightly. Then he smiled genially back at the girl. “It is an ambition which I am not ashamed to own,” he returned gently.

“But, Monsignor,” Carmen continued earnestly, “are you not aware of the inevitable failure of your mission? Do you not know that mediaeval theology comports not with modern progress?”

“True, my child,” replied the churchman. “And more, that our so-called modern progress––modernism, free-thinking, liberty of conscience, and the consequent terrible extravagance of beliefs and false creeds––constitutes the greatest menace now confronting this fair land. Its end is inevitable anarchy and chaos. Perhaps you can see that.”

“Monsignor,” said Carmen, “in the Middle Ages the Church was supreme. Emperors and kings bowed in submission before her. The world was dominantly Catholic. Would you be 173 willing, for the sake of Church supremacy to-day, to return to the state of society and civilization then obtaining?”

“That would not follow.”

“No? I point you to Mexico, Cuba, the Philippines, South America, all Catholic now or formerly, and I ask if you attribute not their oppression, their ignorance, their low morals and stunted manhood, to the dominance of churchly doctrines, which oppose freedom of conscience and press and speech, and make learning the privilege of the clergy and the rich?”

“It is an old argument, child,” deprecated Lafelle. “May I not point to France, on the contrary?”

“She has all but driven the Church from her borders.”

“But is still Catholic!” he retorted. “And England, though Anglican, calls herself Catholic. She will return to the true fold. Germany is forsaking Luther, as she sees the old light shining still undimmed.”

Carmen looked at Father Waite. The latter read in her glance an invitation further to voice his own convictions.

“Monsignor doubtless misreads the signs of the times,” he said slowly. “The hour has struck for the ancient and materialistic theories enunciated with such assumption of authority by ignorant, often blindly bigoted theologians, to be laid aside. The religion of our fathers, which is our present-day evangelical theology, was derived from the traditions of the early churchmen. They put their seal upon it; and we blindly accept it as authority, despite the glaring, irrefutable fact that it is utterly undemonstrable. Why do the people continue to be deceived by it? Alas! only because of its mesmeric promise of immortality beyond the grave.”

Monsignor bowed stiffly in the direction of Father Waite. “Fortunately, your willingness to plunge the Christian world into chaos will fail of concrete results,” he said coldly.

“I but voice the sentiments of millions, Monsignor. For them, too, the time has come to put by forever the paraphernalia of images, candles, and all the trinkets used in the pagan ceremonial which has so quenched our spirituality, and to seek the undivided garment of the Christ.”

“Indeed!” murmured Lafelle.

“The world to-day, Monsignor, stands at the door of a new era, an era which promises a grander concept of God and religion, the tie which binds all to Him, than has ever before been known. We are thinking. We are pondering. We are delving, studying, reflecting. And we are at last beginning to work with true scientific precision and system. As in chemistry, mathematics, and the physical sciences, so in matters religious, we are beginning to prove our working hypotheses. 174 And so a new spiritual enlightenment is come. People are awaking to a dim perception of the meaning of spiritual life, as exemplified in Jesus Christ. And they are vaguely beginning to see that it is possible to every one. The abandonment of superstition, religious and other, has resulted in such a sudden expansion of the human mind that the most marvelous material progress the world has ever witnessed has come swiftly upon us, and we live more intensely in a single hour to-day than our fathers lived in weeks before us. Oh, yes, we are already growing tired of materiality. The world is not yet satisfied. We are not happy. But, Monsignor, let not the Church boast itself that the acceptance of her mediaeval dogmas will meet the world’s great need. That need will be met, I think, only as we more and more clearly perceive the tremendous import of the mission of Jesus, and learn how to grasp and apply the marvelous Christ-principle which he used and told us we should likewise employ to work out our salvation.”

During Father Waite’s earnest talk Lafelle sat with his eyes fixed upon Carmen. When the ex-priest concluded, the churchman ignored him and vouchsafed no reply.

“Well, Monsignor?” said the girl, after waiting some moments in expectation.

Lafelle smiled paternally. Then, nodding his shapely head, he said in a pleading tone:

“Have I no champion here? Would you, too, suddenly abolish the Church, Catholic and Protestant alike? Why, my dear child, with your ideals––which no one appreciates more highly than I––do you continue to persecute me so cruelly? Can not you, too, sense the unsoundness of the views just now so eloquently voiced?”

“That is cant, Monsignor! You speak wholly without authority or proof, as is your wont.”

The man winced slightly. “Well,” he said, “there are several hundred million Catholics and Protestants in the world to-day. Would you presume to say that they are all mistaken, and that you are right? Something of an assumption, is it not? Indeed, I think you set the Church an example in that respect.”

“Monsignor, there were once several hundred millions who believed that the earth was flat, and that the sun revolved about it. Were they mistaken?”

“Yes. But the––”

“And, Monsignor, there are billions to-day who believe that matter is a solid, substantial reality, and that it possesses life and sensation. There are billions who believe that the physical 175 eyes see, and the ears hear, and the hands feel. Yet these beliefs are all capable of scientific refutation. Did you know that?”

“I am not unacquainted with philosophical speculation,” he returned suggestively.

“This is not mere speculation, Monsignor,” put in Father Waite. “The beliefs of the human mind are its fetish. Such beliefs become in time national customs, and men defend them with frenzy, utterly wrong and undemonstrable though they be. Then they remain as the incubus of true progress. By them understanding becomes degraded, and the human mind narrows and shrinks. And the mind that clings to them will then mercilessly hunt out the dissenting minds of its heretical neighbors and stone them to death for disagreeing. So now, you would stone me for obeying Christ’s command to take up my bed on the Sabbath day.”

Lafelle heaved a great sigh. “Still you blazon my faults,” he said in a tone of mock sadness, and addressing Carmen. “But, like the Church which you persecute, I shall endure. We have been martyred throughout the ages. And we are very patient. Our wayward children forsake us,” nodding toward Father Waite, “and yet we welcome their return when they have tired of the husks. The press teems with slander against us; we are reviled from east to west. But our reply is that such slander and untruth can best be met by our leading individual lives of such an exemplary nature as to cause all men to be attracted by our holy light.”

“I agree with you, Monsignor,” quickly replied Carmen. “Scurrilous attacks upon the Church but make it a martyr. Vilification returns upon the one who hurls the abuse. One can not fling mud without soiling one’s hands. I oppose not men, but human systems of thought. Whatever is good will stand, and needs no defense. Whatever is erroneous must go. And there is no excuse, for salvation is at hand.”

“Salvation? And your thought regarding that?” he said in a skirmishing tone.

“Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts,” she replied earnestly. “To him that soweth righteousness––right thinking––shall be a sure reward. Ah, Monsignor, do you at heart believe that the religion of the Christ depends upon doctrines, signs, dogmas? No, it does not. But signs and proofs naturally and inevitably follow the right understanding of Jesus’ teachings, even according to these words: These signs shall follow them that believe. Paul gave the formula for salvation, when he said: But we all with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed 176 into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord. Can you understand that? Can you see that, taking Jesus as our model and following his every command––seeing Him only, the Christ-principle, which is God, good, without any admixture of evil––we change, even though slowly, from glory to glory, step by step, until we rise out of all sense of evil and death? And this is done by the Spirit which is God.”

“Yes,” said Father Waite, taking up the conversation when she paused. “Even the poorest human being can understand that. Why, then, the fungus growth of traditions, ceremonies, rites and forms which have sprung up about the Master’s simple words? Why the wretched formalistic worship throughout the world? Why the Church’s frigid, lifeless traditions, so inconsistent with the enlarging sense of God which marks this latest century? The Church has yet to prove its utility, its right to exist and to pose as the religious teacher of mankind. Else must it fall beneath the axe which is even now at the root of the barren tree of theology. Her theology, like the Judaism of the Master’s day, has no prophets, no poets, no singers. And her priests, as in his time, have sunk into a fanatical observance of ritual and form.”

“And yet,” observed Carmen, “you still urge me to unite with it.”

Lafelle was growing weary. Moreover, it irked him sore to be made a target for the unassailable logic of the apostate Waite. Then, too, the appearance of the ex-priest there that afternoon in company with this girl who held such radical views regarding religious matters portended in his thought the possibility of a united assault upon the foundations of his cherished system. This girl was now a menace. She nettled and exasperated him. Yet, he could not let her alone. Did he have the power to silence her? He thought he had.

“Have you finished with me?” he asked, with a show of gaiety. “If so, I will depart.”

“Yes,” replied Carmen, “you may go now.”

Lafelle paled. He had not expected that reply. He was stung to the quick. What! dismissed like a lackey? He, Monsignor, a dignitary of Holy Church? He could not believe it! He turned upon the girl and her companion, furious with anger.

“I have been very patient with you both,” he said in a voice that he could not control. “But there is a reasonable limit. Abuse the Church as you will, the fact remains that the world fears her and trembles before her awful voice! Why? Because the world recognizes her mighty power, a power of unified millions of human beings and exhaustless wealth. She is 177 the leader, the guide, the teacher, the supreme object of worship of a countless army who would lay down their lives to-day for her. Her subjects gather from every quarter of the globe. They are English, French, German, American––but they are Catholics first! Emperor, King, Ruler, or Government––all are alike subject to her supreme, divine authority! Nationalities, customs, family ties––all melt away before her, to whom her followers bow in loyal consecration. The power which her supreme leader and head wields is all but omnipotent! He is by divine decree Lord of the world. Hundreds of millions bend before his throne and offer him their hearts and swords! I say, you have good reason to quake! Aye, America has reason to fear! The onward march of Holy Church is not disturbed by the croaking calumnies of such as you who would assault her! And to you I say, beware!” His face was purple, as he stopped and mopped his damp brow.

“What we have to beware of, Monsignor,” said Father Waite gravely, “is the steady encroachments of Rome in this country, with her weapons of fear, ignorance, and intolerance––”

“Intolerance! You speak of intolerance! Why, in this country, whose Constitution provided toleration for every form of religion––”

Carmen had risen and gone to the man. “Monsignor,” she said, “the founders of the American nation did provide for religious tolerance––and they were wise according to their light. But we of this day are still wiser, for we have some knowledge of the wonderful working of mental laws. I, too, believe in toleration of opinion. You are welcome to yours, and I to mine. But––and here is the great point––the opinion which Holy Church has held throughout the ages regarding those who do not accept her dogmas is that they are damned, that they are outcasts of heaven, that they merit the stake and rack. The Church’s hatred of heretics has been deadly. Her thought concerning them has not been that of love, such as Jesus sent out to all who did not agree with him, but deadly, suggestive hatred. Now our Constitution does not provide for tolerance of hate and murder-thoughts, which enter the minds of the unsuspecting and work destruction there in the form of disease, disaster, and death. That is what we object to in you, Monsignor. You murder your opponents with your poisonous thoughts. And toward such thoughts we have a right to be very intolerant, even to the point of destroying them in human mentalities. Again I say, I war not against people, but against the murderous carnal thought of the human mind!”

Monsignor had fallen back before the girl’s strong words. 178 His face had grown black, and his hands were working convulsively.

“Monsignor,” continued Carmen in a low, steady voice, “you have threatened me with something which you apparently hold over me. You are very like the people of Galilee: if you can not refute by reason, you would circumvent by law, by the Constitution, by Congress. That failing, you would destroy. Instead of threatening us with the flames of hell for not being good, why do you not show us by the great example of Jesus’ love how to be so? Are you manifesting love now––or the carnal mind? I judge your Church by such as manifest it to me. How, then, shall I judge it by you to-day?”

He rose slowly and took her by the hand. “I beg your pardon,” he said in a strange, unnatural voice. “I was hasty. As you see, I am zealous. Naturally, I resent misjudgment. And I assure you that you quite misunderstand me, and the Church which I represent. But––I may come again?”

“Surely, Monsignor,” returned the girl heartily. “A debate such as this is stimulating, don’t you think so?”

He bowed and turned to go. Just then the Beaubien appeared.

“Ah, Monsignor,” she said lightly, as she stepped into the room. “You are exclusive. Why have you avoided me since your return to America?”

“Madam,” replied Lafelle, in some confusion, “no one regrets more than I the press of business which necessitated it. But your little friend has told me I may return.”

“Always welcome, Monsignor,” replied the Beaubien, scanning him narrowly as she accompanied him to the door. “By the way, you forgot our little compact, did you not?” she added coldly.

“Madam, I came out of a sense of duty.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Monsignor. Adieu.”

She returned again to the music room, where Carmen made her acquainted with Father Waite, and related the conversation with Lafelle. While the girl talked the Beaubien’s expression grew serious. Then Carmen launched into her association with the ex-priest, concluding with: “And he must have something to do, right away, to earn his living!”

The Beaubien laughed. She always did when Carmen, no matter how serious the conversation, infused her sparkling animation into it. “That isn’t nearly as important as to know what he thinks about Monsignor’s errand here this afternoon, dearie,” she said.

Father Waite bowed. “Madam,” he said with great seriousness, “I would be very wide awake.”

The Beaubien studied him for a moment. “Why?” she asked.

“I think––I think––” He hesitated, and looked at Carmen.

“Well?” impatiently.

“I think he––has been greatly angered by––this girl––and by my presence here.”

“Ah!” Her face set hard. Then abruptly: “What are you going to do now?”

“I have funds enough to keep me some weeks, Madam, while making plans for the future.”

“Then remain where I can keep in touch with you.”

For the Beaubien had just returned from a two hours’ ride with J. Wilton Ames, and she felt that she needed a friend.