This was the man whose stern voice brought the showman to a standstill. Master Crafty Eyes faltered. Then he remembered that the boy was his boy, that his title to him was good. He said so sulkily.
"Your boy?" the priest replied, frowning. "Who are you, then?"
"So I thought. But do acrobats' boys wear black velvet clothes with silver buttons?"
"He was stolen from me," the showman answered eagerly. He had a good conscience as to the clothes. "I have only just recovered him, father."
"Who stole him? Where has he been?" The priest spoke quickly, and with no little excitement. He looked narrowly at the boy the while, holding him at arm's length. "Where did he spend last night, for instance?"
The showman spread out his palms and shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know?" he said. "I was not with him."
"Yes. But what of that?" Crafty Eyes answered. "I can swear to him. He is my boy."
"And mine!" Father Bernard retorted with energy. "The boy I want!" The priest's eyes sparkled, his form seemed to dilate with triumph. "Deo laus! Deo laus!" he murmured sonorously, so that a score of loiterers who had gathered round, and were staring and shivering by turns, fell back affrighted and crossed themselves. "He is the boy! God has put him in my way this day as clearly as if an angel had led me by the hand. And he goes with me; he goes with me. Chut, man!"--this to the showman, who stood frowning in his path--"don't dare to look black at me. The boy goes with me, I say. I want him for a purpose. If you choose you can come too."
"To the Châtelet," Father Bernard answered, with a grim chuckle. "You don't seem to relish the idea. But do as you please."
"_Mon Dieu!_ but you shall not!" the showman exclaimed. Wrath for the moment drove out fear. He seized the child by the arm. "He is my boy! You shall not, I say!" he cried, almost foaming with rage. "He is mine!"
[Illustration: "'WHO STOLE HIM? WHERE HAS HE BEEN?'" (_p_. 169).]
"Idiot! Beast! Gallows-bird!" the priest thundered in reply. "For one-half of a denier I would throw you into the next street! Let go, or I will blast you with--Oh, it is well for you you are reasonable. Now begone! Begone! or, at a word from me, there are a score here will----"