He leaned against the wall, his eyes round, his nostrils expanded.

A great wave of pity surged over him.

He saw nothing but the handsome youth who had spoken kindly to him at the Candlestick in Paris.

That word! That invisible, searing iron! He straightened, and his eyes flashed like points of steel in the sunshine.

That grim, wicked old man; not a thousand times a thousand livres would give him the key to Heaven.