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 The baroness turned livid at these words, and tried in vain to find an answer.

Cvok continued: “Against all your affronts I calmly oppose the shield of my good conscience. Your blows have struck only empty air. I am a priest; I forgive your error—your weakness. The gist of the whole matter is this: you want me to deliver up my charge to you. What went before, I treat as mere empty rodomontade; now let us come to the core of the business. What if I do not deliver up the child to you?”

“Then you must take the consequences that will follow upon yourself.”

“I think I shall be well able to bear them.”

“Take care lest you turn out to be mistaken. My connections reach high, and will have weight with those to whose authority you are subject in your priestly capacity. You know me, that I do not stop till I carry out whatever I have once determined upon. You must therefore choose one or other of these two things: either you deliver up the child to me, or I shall take care to provide a place for you at St. George’s. I hope you understand that clearly.”

“Well, then, in God’s name set about providing St. George for me as soon as you like.”

“We have done speaking to each other.”

As the baroness said this, she made a pretence of going away, but before reaching the door she stopped, and without turning to the priest, said more temperately—

“Where is the child?”

“With his nurse.”

“I should like to look at it.”

“I believe you!”