“You mean that he flung himself from this parapet?” said Bonpre, in a low, horrified tone.

“That was the way of it, Monseigneur,” said Lapui commiseratingly,—­ “His body was found next day crushed to bits on the pavement below; but somehow no one troubled much about it, or thought he had thrown himself from the tower of Notre Dame.  It was said that he had been murdered and thrown out of a window, but nobody knew how or when.  Of course I could have spoken, but then I should have got into trouble.  And I avoid trouble whenever I can.  A very strange thing it is that no one has ever been suspected of leaping from Notre Dame into the next world since Victor Hugo’s great story was written.  ’It is against the rules,’ say the authorities, ’to mount the towers at night.’  True, but rules are not always kept.  Victor Hugo’s ‘Quasimodo,’ who never lived, is the only person the wiseacres associate with such a deed.  And I,—­I could tell many a strange story; only it is better to be silent!  Life is hard living,—­and when a priest of the Church feels there is no God in this world, why what is there left for him except to try and find out if there is in the next?”

“Suicide is not the way to find Heaven,” said the Cardinal gravely.

“Maybe not,—­maybe not,” and the old custodian turned to lead the way down the steps of the tower, “But when the brain is gone all through grief at losing God, it may chance that God sees the conditions of things, and has mercy.  Events happen in this world of such a kind as to make anyone who is not a saint, doubt the sense as well as the goodness of the Creator,—­of course that is a wicked thing to say, for we make our own evils, no doubt—­”

“That is very certain,” said the Cardinal, “The unhappy man you have told me of should have trusted God to the end, whether those whom he preached to, believed his message or not.  Their conduct was not his business,—­his task was to declare, and not to judge.”

“Now that is very well put!” and the old man paused on the stairway and looked round approvingly.  “Of course that is said as only a wise man could say it, for after all, Christ Himself did not judge any one in any case.  He came to save us all, not to punish us.”

“Then why does not everyone remember that, and try to save one another rather than to condemn?” asked Manuel suddenly.

They had reached the bottom of the tower stairway, and old Jean Lapui, shading his eyes from the glare of the daylight with one wrinkled hand, looked at the boy with a smile of compassionate interest.

“Why does not everyone remember?  Why does not everyone do as He did?  Ah, that is a question!  You are young, and you will find out many answers to it before you are much older.  One fact is sure,—­that if everybody did remember Him and lived exactly as He wished, we should have a new Heaven and a new Earth; and I will tell you something else,” and the old fellow looked sly and mischievous, “No offence meant—­no offence!—­but there would be no churches and no priests!  Believe me, I speak the truth!  But this would be a great happiness; and is not to be our portion yet!  Good-day, Monseigneur!—­A thousand pardons for my wicked speech!  Good-day!”