to the daughter and then handed over to the Church.”
“The game of that rascally Chenoweth shall fail, if I can compass it,” snarled the Chancellor with a painful sort of a smile, which had a sneer in it.
“The pretty face of the Burgomaster's daughter is working mischief in more quarters than one,” remarked the Superior with a significant look.
“Monseigneur is witty,” said the Chancellor stiffly. “Your reverence takes his recreation in chess. I do myself the honor of being in love.”
“Every man to his liking,” said the churchman. “But we have digressed from the subject. I was about to unfold to you my plan in reference to these worthy ladies. While their suit is pending before the ecclesiastical authorities, I shall invite them to take up their residence as guests of the Convent of the Sacred Heart. The mother will be allowed to leave this retreat as soon as we are convinced that all heretical notions imbibed from her husband have been uprooted. The daughter will be persuaded to take the veil—willingly if we can bring it about, by compulsion if necessary. We shall accomplish two things by this procedure: we shall save a soul, and add to the depleted treasuries of the Church.”
The Chancellor looked with admiration upon the Jesuit. “You have a subtle brain, Father, and you have solved the riddle with your accustomed wisdom. But one other point occurs to me: accord-
