"I cannot prevent the thoughts from coming into my mind," replied the priest gently, "but I can keep them prisoners when they have entered."

He rose suddenly, and led the way along the river bank. Had Christian's manner been more encouraging he would have told him then and there about the letter.

As they pa.s.sed along the narrow footpath, the dim form of a man rose from behind the log of wood upon which they had been sitting. It was one of the lay brethren who had accompanied them from Audierne. Contrary to Rene Drucquer's whispered instructions, he had followed them after quitting the carriage, and had crept up behind the poplars unheard and unsuspected. He came, however, too late. Unconsciously, Christian had saved his companion.

CHAPTER XXII

GREEK AND GREEK

When they had walked about a hundred yards farther on, the footpath was brought to a sudden termination by a house built across it to the water's edge. In this lay the explanation of its scanty use and luxuriant growth of moss.

It was not a dark night, and without difficulty the priest found the handle of a bell, of which, however, no sound reached their ears. The door, cut deep in the stone, was opened after a short delay by a lay brother who showed no signs of rigid fasting. Again Christian noticed that no greeting was exchanged, no word of explanation offered or expected. The lay brother led the way along a dimly lighted corridor, in which there were doors upon each side at regular intervals. There was a chill and stony feeling in the atmosphere.

At the end of the corridor a gleam of light shone through a half-open door upon the bare stone floor. Into this cell Christian was shown.

Without even noticing whether the priest followed him or not, he entered the tiny room and threw himself wearily upon the bed. Although it was an intensely hot night he shivered a little, and as he lay he clasped his head with either hand. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and the colour had entirely left his cheeks, though his lips were red and moist. He took no notice of his surroundings, which, though simple and somewhat bare, were not devoid of comfort.

In the meantime, Rene Drucquer had followed the door-keeper up a broad flight of stairs to a second corridor which was identical with that below, except that a room took the place of this small entrance-lobby and broad door. Thus the windows of this room were immediately above the river, which rendered them entirely free from overlookers, as the land on the opposite side was low and devoid of trees.

The lay brother stopped in front of the door of this apartment, and allowed the young priest to pa.s.s him and knock at the door with his own hands. The response from within was uttered in such a low tone that if he had not been listening most attentively Rene would not have heard it.

He opened the door, which creaked a little on its hinges, and pa.s.sed into the room alone.

In front of him a man dressed in a black soutane was seated at a table placed before the window. The only lamp in the room, which was long and narrow, stood on the table before him, so that the light of it was reflected from his sleek black head disfigured by a tiny tonsure. As Rene Drucquer advanced up the room, the occupant raised his head slightly, but made no attempt to turn round. With a quick, un.o.btrusive movement of his large white hand he moved the papers on the table before him, so that no written matter remained exposed to view. Upon the table were several books, and on the right-hand side of the plain inkstand stood a beautifully carved stone crucifix, while upon the left there was a small mirror no larger than a carte-de-visite. This was placed at a slight angle upon a tiny wire easel, and by raising his eyes any person seated at the table could at once see what was pa.s.sing in the room behind him--the entire apartment, including the door, being reflected in the mirror.

Though seated, the occupant of this peculiarly constructed room was evidently tall. His shoulders, though narrow, were very square, and in any other garment than a thin soutane his slightness of build would scarcely have been noticeable. His head was of singular and remarkable shape. Very narrow from temple to temple, it was quite level from the summit of the high forehead to the spot where the tonsure gleamed whitely, and the length of the skull from front to back was abnormal.

The dullest observer could not have failed to recognise that there was something extraordinary in such a head, either for good or evil.

The Abbe Drucquer advanced across the bare stone floor, and took his stand at the left side of the table, within a yard of his Provincial's elbow. Before taking any notice of him, the Provincial opened a thick book bound in dark morocco leather, of which the leaves were of white unruled paper, interleaved, like a diary, with blotting paper. The pages were numbered, although there was, apparently, no index attached to the volume. After a moment's thought, the tall man turned to a certain folio which was partially covered by a fine handwriting in short paragraphs.

Then for the first time he looked up.

"Good evening," he said, in full melodious voice. As he raised his face the light of the lamp fell directly upon it. There was evidently no desire to conceal any pa.s.sing expression by the stale old method of a shaded lamp. The face was worthy of the head. Clean-cut, calm, and dignified; it was singularly fascinating, not only by reason of its beauty, which was undeniable, but owing to the calm, almost superhuman power that lay in the gaze of the velvety eyes. There was no keenness of expression, no quickness of glance, and no seeking after effect by mobility of lash or lid. When he raised his eyes, the lower lid was elevated simultaneously, which peculiarity, concealing the white around the pupil, imparted an uncomfortable sense of inscrutability. There was no expression beyond a vague sense of velvety depth, such as is felt upon gazing for some s.p.a.ce of time down a deep well.

"Good evening," replied Rene Drucquer, meeting with some hesitation the slow, kindly glance.

The Provincial leant forward and took from the tray of the inkstand a quill pen. With the point of it he followed the lines written in the book before him.

"I understand," he said, in a modulated and business-like tone, "that you have been entirely successful?"

"I believe so."

The Provincial turned his head slightly, as if about to raise his eyes once more to the young priest's face, but after remaining a moment in the same position with slightly parted lips and the pen poised above the book, he returned to the written notes.

"You left," he continued, "on Monday week last. On the Wednesday evening you ... carried out the instructions given to you. This morning you arrived at Audierne, and came into the harbour at daybreak. Your part has been satisfactorily performed. You have brought your prisoner with all expedition. So--" here the Provincial raised the pen from the book with a jerk of his wrist and shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly, "so--you have been entirely successful?"

Although there was a distinct intention of interrogation in the tone in which this last satisfactory statement was made, the young priest stood motionless and silent. After a pause, the other continued in the same kind, even voice:

"What has not been satisfactory to you, my son?"

"The 'patron' of the boat, Loic Plufer, was killed by the breaking of a rope, before we were out of sight of the English coast."

"Ah! I am sorry. Had you time--were you enabled to administer to him the Holy Rites?"

"No, my father. He was killed at one blow."

The Provincial laid aside his pen and leant back. His soft eyes rested steadily on the book in front of him.

"Did the accident have any evil effect upon the crew!" he asked indifferently.

"I think not," was the reply. "I endeavoured to prevent such effect arising, and--and in this the Englishman helped me greatly."

Without moving a muscle the Provincial turned his eyes towards the young priest. He did not look up into his face, but appeared to be watching his slim hands, which were moving nervously upon the surface of his black soutane.

"My son," he said smoothly. "As you know, I am a great advocate for frankness. Frankness in word and thought, in subordinate and superior. I have always been frank with you, and from you I expect similar treatment. It appears to me that there is still something unsatisfactory respecting your successfully executed mission. It is in connection with this Englishman. Is it not so?"

Rene Drucquer moved a little, changing his att.i.tude and clasping his hands one over the other.

"He is not such as I expected," he replied after a pause.

"No," said the Provincial meditatively. "They are a strange race. Some of them are strong--very strong indeed. But most of them are foolish; and singularly self-satisfied. He is intelligent, this one; is it not so?"

"Yes, I think he is very intelligent."

"Was he violent or abusive?"

"No; he was calm and almost indifferent."

For some moments the Provincial thought deeply. Then he waved his hand in the direction of a chair which stood with its back towards the window at the end of the table.

"Take a seat, my son," he said, "I have yet many questions to ask you. I am afraid I forgot that you might be tired."

"Now tell me," he continued, when Rene had seated himself, "do you think this indifference was a.s.sumed by way of disarming suspicion and for the purpose of effecting a speedy escape?"

"No!"

"Did you converse together to any extent?"

"We were naturally thrown together a great deal; especially after the death of the 'patron.' He was of great a.s.sistance to me and to Hoel Grall, the second in command, by reason of his knowledge of seamanship."

"Ah! He is expert in such matters?"

"Yes, my father."

A further note was here added to the partially-filled page of the ma.n.u.script book.