``Oh, the French are a very curious people,'' Pierre had laughed. ``They are also honest seekers after truth. Now the English are painfully silent about my missing hands. They refuse to mention or to notice that they are not there. The Americans, like yourself, take the fact for granted, try to be helpful, but don't ask questions. I'm used to all three, but I think the French have the healthiest attitude.''

That was the day that Pierre had told Warren about the Abbey of Solesmes. ``You are looking tired and there you can rest. It will be good for you. I think, too,'' he said, his dark eyes mischievous, ``that you will find there some clue to the secret of the cathedrals about which you have spoken.''

Within two weeks Warren was ringing the bell at the abbey gate. The monk who opened the door immediately calmed his worries about his reception: ``I speak English,'' the old man said, ``but I do not hear it very well.'' He smiled and stuck a large finger with white hairs sprouting on it into his ear as though that might help. Smiling at Warren's protestations, the old monk took his grip from him and led him down a corridor to a small parlor. ``Will you please wait in here.