“Good-day!” responded the Cardinal gently, “Be careful of your night visitors, my friend!  Do not for the future leave them alone to plunge into the Infinite without a warning!”

The old man smiled deprecatingly.

“Truly, Monseigneur, I am generally careful.  I do not know when I have spoken so freely to anyone as I have to you; for I am generally in a bad humour with all Church dignitaries,—­and of course I know you for a Cardinal by your dress, while you might truly be a saint from your manner;—­so I should have held my tongue about the flight into the air of the little priest.  But you will say nothing, for you are discreet; and even if you did, and I were asked about it, I should know nothing.  Oh, yes, I can tell lies as fast as anybody else!—­Yes, truly!  I do not suppose anyone, not even an Archbishop himself, could surpass me in lying!”

“And are you not ashamed to lie?” asked Bonpre, with an intense vibration of pain in his voice as he put the question.

“Heaven bless you, no, Monseigneur!” replied Lapui cheerfully, “For is not the whole world kept going by lies?  Dear me, if we all told the truth there would be an end of everything!  I am a philosopher in my way, Monseigneur,—­and I assure you that a real serious truth told in Paris without any gloss upon it, would be like an earthquake in the city,—­great houses would come down and numbers of people would be killed by it!  Good-day, Monseigneur!—­Good-day.”

And still smiling and chuckling, the custodian of the North tower retired into his den there to await fresh visitors.  The Cardinal walked slowly to the corner of the street where his carriage awaited him,—­his head bent and his eyes downcast; Manuel stepped lightly along beside him, glancing at his pale face from time to time with a grave and tender compassion.  When they were seated in the vehicle and driving homewards the boy spoke gently—­

“You grieve too much for others, dear friend!  You are now distressed because you have heard the story of one unhappy man who sought to find God by self-destruction, and you are pained also lest another man should lose God altogether by the deliberate telling of lies.  All such mistakes and follies of the world weigh heavily on your heart, but they should not do so,—­for did not Christ suffer all this for you when He was crucified?”

The Cardinal sighed deeply.

“Yes, my child, but He told us plainly why He suffered.  It was that we might learn to follow Him, and that there should be less suffering for the future.  And surely we have not obeyed Him, or there could not be so much pain and difficulty in the world as there is now.”

“If He come again, you think He would be grieved and disappointed in His followers?” queried Manuel softly.

“If He came again, I fear He would not find much of His teaching in any of the creeds founded on His name!  If He came again, then indeed might the churches tremble, totter and fall!”