“Madame Magloire,” said the Bishop, “place those things as near the fire as possible.” And turning to his guest: “The night wind is harsh on the Alps. You must be cold, sir.”

Each time that he uttered the word sir , in his voice which was so gently grave and polished, the man’s face lighted up. Monsieur to a convict is like a glass of water to one of the shipwrecked of the Medusa . Ignominy thirsts for consideration.

“This lamp gives a very bad light,” said the Bishop.

Madame Magloire understood him, and went to get the two silver candlesticks from the chimneypiece in Monseigneur’s bedchamber, and placed them, lighted, on the table.