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Rh "A man must live—even, or shall I say, usually—at the expense of others. And if he cannot wipe out his own crimes he is surely doing well in assisting others to wipe out theirs."

Père Melisand shook his head, with the smile still lingering.

"Well there is always the untamed thing that runs clamouring through our blood. There will be the doer of crimes, and the executor of crimes so long as this old world lasts. And in the next we may have to sheet those very crimes home to the opposite shoulders and begin all over again. But do not speak of this to Soeur Narcisse in the morning. I think you shall see Soeur Narcisse."

"She is perhaps not young enough to be fluttered at the sight of—shall we say—divided skirts?" suggested Dick.

Père Melisand shook his head again.

"Be careful," he said. "I learnt well that a light tongue seldom means a light heart." He cracked another nut. "You deserved that, and you do not deserve to see Soeur Narcisse. But you shall see her. And speak to her of Ouchy if you can. She comes from Ouchy, and we French love our country."

"Which is, I imagine, the reason why you leave it. A thing denied has its value enhanced, and the wisdom of the French in matters of love is fully acknowledged all the world over."

Père Melisand laughed, settling his shoulders in the tall chair.

"Come," he said. "Tell me what you know about France. We will leave your opinions on love to explain themselves. And talk French. You never learnt your wisdom in any language but ours."

Dick's answering smile did not show in his eyes. Père Melisand guessed that there had been no smile there for long. That did not surprise him, for he knew much of the lives of the wandering men; but the pity on Dick's face when he saw Soeur Narcisse next morning did. The soft-eyed, shy young nun with the strange, delicate bloom which stirs a man's heart glowed with excitement when Dick's question called her eyes up to his face.

"Mais oui," she cried. "Is it that I could forget An-