Only old Mother Thibadeau, who had a heart that sees, caught a look in Fleda's eyes, a warm deepening of colour, a sudden embarrassment, which she knew how to interpret.
"See now, monseigneur," she said to Monseigneur Lourde, nodding towards Fleda and Ingolby, "there would be work here soon for you or Father Bidette if they were not two heretics." "Is she a heretic, then, madame ?" asked the old white-headed priest, his eyes quizzically following Fleda.
"She is not a Catholic, and she must be a heretic, that's certain," was the reply.
"I'm not so sure," mused the priest.

Smiling, he raised his hat as he caught Fleda's eyes.

He made as if to go towards her, but something in her look held him back.

He realized that Fleda did not wish to speak with him, and that she was even hurrying away from her father, who lumbered through the crowd as though unconscious of them all.
Presently Monseigneur Lourde saw Fleda leave the Fete and take the road towards home.

There was a sense of excitement in her motions, and he also had seen that tremulous, embarrassed look in her eyes.