“Ah, Bonneton, my friend!” said Coquenil, and then, with a quizzical glance:  “My decorative friend!”

“Good evening, M. Paul,” answered the other, while he patted the dog affectionately.  “Shall I take Caesar?”

“One moment; I have news for you.”  Then, while the other listened anxiously, he told of his brilliant appointment in Rio Janeiro and of his imminent departure.  He was sailing for Brazil in three days.

“Mon Dieu!” murmured Bonneton in dismay.  “Sailing for Brazil!  So our friends leave us.  Of course I’m glad for you; it’s a great chance, but—­will you take Caesar?”

“I couldn’t leave my dog, could I?” smiled Coquenil.

“Of course not!  Of course not!  And such a dog!  You’ve been kind to let him guard the church since old Max died.  Come, Caesar!  Just a moment, M. Paul.”  And with real emotion the sacristan led the dog away, leaving the detective all unconscious that he had reached a critical moment in his destiny.

How the course of events would have been changed had Paul Coquenil remained outside Notre-Dame on this occasion it is impossible to know; the fact is he did not remain outside, but, growing impatient at Bonneton’s delay, he pushed open the double swinging doors, with their coverings of leather and red velvet, and entered the sanctuary. And immediately he saw the girl.

She was in the shadows near a statue of the Virgin before which candles were burning.  On the table were rosaries and talismans and candles of different lengths that it was evidently the girl’s business to sell.  In front of the Virgin’s shrine was a prie dieu at which a woman was kneeling, but she presently rose and went out, and the girl sat there alone.  She was looking down at a piece of embroidery, and Coquenil noticed her shapely white hands and the mass of red golden hair coiled above her neck.  When she lifted her eyes he saw that they were dark and beautiful, though tinged with sadness.  He was surprised to find this lovely young woman selling candles here in Notre-Dame Church.

And suddenly he was more surprised, for as the girl glanced up she met his gaze fixed on her, and immediately there came into her face a look so strange, so glad, and yet so frightened that Coquenil went to her quickly with reassuring smile.  He was sure he had never seen her before, yet he realized that somehow she was equally sure that she knew him.

What followed was seen by only one person, that is, the sacristan’s wife, a big, hard-faced woman with a faint mustache and a wart on her chin, who sat by the great column near the door dispensing holy water out of a cracked saucer and whining for pennies.  Nothing escaped the hawklike eyes of Mother Bonneton, and now, with growing curiosity, she watched the scene between Coquenil and the candle seller.  What interest could a great detective have in this girl, Alice, whom she and her husband had taken in as a half-charity boarder?  Such airs as she gave herself!  What was she saying now?  Why should he look at her like that?  The baggage!