"He cannot leave many in the house with the woman.

If it were attacked in his absence--" "He would return, and--" Father Pezelay shook his head, his cheek turned a shade paler.

Clearly, he saw with his mind's eye more than he expressed.
"_Hoc est corpus_," the other muttered, his dreamy gaze on the table.

"If he met us then, on his way to the house and we had bell, book, and candle, would he stop ?" "He would not stop!" Father Pezelay rejoined.
"He would not ?" "I know the man!" "Then--" but the rest St.Benoist whispered, his head drooping forward; whispered so low that even the lean man behind him, listening with greedy ears, failed to follow the meaning of his superior's words.

But that he spoke plainly enough for his hearer Father Pezelay's face was witness.
Astonishment, fear, hope, triumph, the lean pale face reflected all in turn; and, underlying all, a subtle malignant mischief, as if a devil's eyes peeped through the holes in an opera mask.
When the other was at last silent, Pezelay drew a deep breath.
"'Tis bold! Bold! Bold!" he muttered.