and the young girl, as the old and young eyes exchanged confidences.
"My child," were the Holy Father's first words, in a voice singularly young and sweet for an old man. "I have seen you before, and now I know why it was that the sight of your eyes so moved me. You are my Barnabas' granddaughter."
And then Fifi made one of the most outlandish speeches imaginable for a young girl to make to the Supreme Pontiff. She said:
"Holy Father, as I looked into your eyes that night when your coach was passing through the street of the Black Cat, I said to myself, 'There is an old man with a father's heart,' and I felt as if I had seen my own father."
And instead of meeting this speech with a look of cold reproof, the Holy Father's eyes grew moist, and he said:
"It was the cry of kindred between us. Now, sit near to me—not in that armchair."
"Here is a footstool," cried Fifi, and drawing the footstool up to the Holy Father's knees, she seated herself with no more fear than Cartouche had of his Emperor.
"Now, my child," said the Holy Father, "the
