Le chien d'or. English
CHAPTER LII. THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY.
Closely veiled, acknowledging no one, looking at no one, and notthemselves recognized by any, but clinging to each other for mutualsupport, Amelie and Heloise traversed swiftly the streets that led tothe Convent of the Ursulines.
At the doors, and in the porches and galleries of the old-fashionedhouses, women stood in groups, discussing eagerly the wild reports thatwere flying to and fro through the city, and looking up and down thestreets for further news of the tragedy in the market-place. The malepart of the population had run off and gathered in excited masses aroundthe mansion of the Golden Dog, which was suddenly shut up, and longstreamers of black crape were hanging at the door.
Many were the inquisitive glances and eager whisperings of the goodwives and girls as the two ladies, deeply veiled in black, passed bywith drooping heads and handkerchiefs pressed against their faces, whilemore than one quick ear caught the deep, suppressed sobs that broke fromtheir bosoms. No one ventured to address them, however, although theirappearance caused no little speculation as to who they were and whitherthey were going.
Amelie and Heloise, almost fainting under their sorrow, stood upon thebroad stone step which formed the threshold that separated the worldthey were entering into from the world they were leaving.
The high gables and old belfry of the Monastrey stood bathed insunlight. The figure of St. Joseph that dominated over the ancientportal held out his arms and seemed to welcome the trembling fugitivesinto the house with a gesture of benediction.
The two ladies paused upon the stone steps. Amelie clasped her arm roundHeloise, whom she pressed to her bosom and said, "Think before you knockat this door and cross the threshold for the last time, Heloise! Youmust not do it for my sake, darling."
"No, Amelie," replied she sadly. "It is not wholly for your sake. WouldI could say it were! Alas! If I remained in the world, I could evennow pity Le Gardeur, and follow him to the world's end; but it mustnot--cannot be. Do not seek to dissuade me, Amelie, for it is useless."
"Your mind is made up, then, to go in with me, my Heloise?" said Amelie,with a fond, questioning look.
"Fully, finally, and forever!" replied she, with energy that left noroom for doubt. "I long ago resolved to ask the community to let me diewith them. My object, dear sister, is like yours: to spend my life inprayers and supplications for Le Gardeur, and be laid, when God callsme to his rest, by the side of our noble aunt, Mere Madelaine deRepentigny, whose lamp still burns in the Chapel of the Saints, as if tolight you and me to follow in her footsteps."
"It is for Le Gardeur's sake I too go," replied Amelie; "to veil my facefrom the eyes of a world I am ashamed to see, and to expiate, if I can,the innocent blood that has been shed. But the sun shines very brightfor those to whom its beams are still pleasant!" said she, lookingaround sadly, as if it were for the last time she bade adieu to the sun,which she should never again behold under the free vault of heaven.
Heloise turned slowly to the door of the Convent. "Those golden raysthat shine through the wicket," said she, "and form a cross upon thepavement within, as we often observed with schoolgirl admiration, arethe only rays to gladden me now. I care no more for the light ofthe sun. I will live henceforth in the blessed light of the lamp ofRepentigny. My mind is fixed, and I will not leave you, Amelie. 'Wherethou goest I will go, where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shallbe my people, and thy God my God.'"
Amelie kissed her cousin tenderly. "So be it, then, Heloise. Yourheart is broken as well as mine. We will pray together for Le Gardeur,beseeching God to pity and forgive."
Amelie knocked at the door twice before a sound of light footsteps washeard within. A veiled nun appeared at the little wicket and lookedgravely for a moment upon the two postulantes for admission, repeatingthe formula usual on such occasions.
"What seek you, my sisters?"
"To come in and find rest, good Mere des Seraphins," replied Amelie, towhom the portiere was well known. "We desire to leave the world andlive henceforth with the community in the service and adoration of ourblessed Lord, and to pray for the sins of others as well as our own."
"It is a pious desire, and no one stands at the door and knocks but itis opened. Wait, my sisters, I will summon the Lady Superior to admityou."
The nun disappeared for a few minutes. Her voice was heard again as shereturned to the wicket: "The Lady Superior deputes to Mere Esther theprivilege, on this occasion, of receiving the welcome postulantes of thehouse of Repentigny."
The portiere retired from the wicket. The heavy door swung noiselesslyback, opening the way into a small antechamber, floored with smoothflags, and containing a table and a seat or two. On either side of theinterior door of the antechamber was a turnstile or tourelle, whichenabled the inmates within to receive anything from the outside worldwithout being themselves seen. Amelie and Heloise passed through theinner door, which opened as of its own accord, as they approached itwith trembling steps and troubled mien.
A tall nun, of commanding figure but benign aspect, received the twoladies with the utmost affection, as well-known friends.
Mere Esther wore a black robe sweeping the ground. It was bound at thewaist by a leathern girdle. A black veil fell on each side of the snowyfillet that covered her forehead, and half covered the white wimple uponher neck and bosom.
At the first sight of the veil thrown over the heads of Amelie andHeloise, and the agitation of both, she knew at once that the time ofthese two girls, like that of many others, had come. Their arrival wasa repetition of the old, old story, of which her long experience hadwitnessed many instances.
"Good mother," exclaimed Amelie, throwing her arms around the nun, whofolded her tenderly to her bosom, although her face remained calm andpassionless, "we are come at last! Heloise and I wish to live and die inthe monastery. Good Mother Esther, will you take us in?"
"Welcome both!" replied Mere Esther, kissing each of them on theforehead. "The virgins who enter in with the bridegroom to the marriageare those whose lamps are burning! The lamp of Repentigny is neverextinguished in the Chapel of Saints, nor is the door of the monasteryever shut against one of your house."
"Thanks, good mother! But we bring a heavy burden with us. No one butGod can tell the weight and the pain of it!" said Amelie sadly.
"I know, Amelie, I know; but what says our blessed Lord? 'Come unto meall ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.'"
"I seek not rest, good mother," replied she sadly, "but a place forpenance, to melt Heaven with prayers for the innocent blood that hasbeen shed to-day, that it be not recorded forever against my brother.Oh, Mere Esther, you know my brother, Le Gardeur; how generous and kindhe was! You have heard of the terrible occurrence in the market-place?"
"Yes, I have heard," said the nun. "Bad news reaches us ever soonest.It fills me with amazement that one so noble as your brother should havedone so terrible a deed."
"Oh, Mere Esther!" exclaimed Amelie eagerly, "it was not Le Gardeur inhis senses who did it. No, he never knowingly struck the blow that haskilled me as well as the good Bourgeois! Alas! he knew not what he did.But still he has done it, and my remaining time left on earth must bespent in sackcloth and ashes, beseeching God for pardon and mercy forhim."
"The community will join you in your prayers, Amelie," replied the Mere.
Esther stood wrapt in thought for a few moments. "Heloise!" said she,addressing the fair cousin of Amelie, "I have long expected you in themonastery. You struggled hard for the world and its delights, butGod's hand was stronger than your purposes. When He calls, be it in thedarkest night, happy is she who rises instantly to follow her Lord!"
"He has indeed called me, O mother! and I desire only to become afaithful servant of His tabernacle forever. I pray, good Mere Esther,for your intercession with the Mere de la Nativite. The venerableLady Superior used to say we were dowerless brides, we of the house ofLotbiniere."
"But you shall not be dowerless, Heloise!" burst
out Amelie. "You shallenter the convent with as rich a dowry as ever accompanied an Ursuline."
"No, Amelie; if they will not accept me for myself, I will imitatemy aunt, the admirable queteuse, who, being, like me, a dowerlesspostulante, begged from house to house throughout the city for the meansto open to her the door of the monastery.
"Heloise," replied Mere Esther, "this is idle fear. We have waited foryou, knowing that one day you would come, and you will be most welcome,dowered or not!"
"You are ever kind, Mere Esther, but how could you know I should come toyou?" asked Heloise with a look of inquiry.
"Alas, Heloise, we know more of the world and its doings than is wellfor us. Our monastery is like the ear of Dionysius: not a whisper in thecity escapes it. Oh, darling, we knew you had failed in your one greatdesire upon earth, and that you would seek consolation where it is onlyto be found, in the arms of your Lord."
"It is true, mother; I had but one desire upon earth, and it is crushed;one little bird that nestled a while in my bosom, and it has flownaway. The event of to-day has stricken me and Amelie alike, and we cometogether to wear out the stones of your pavement praying for the haplessbrother of Amelie."
"And the object of Heloise's faithful love!" replied the nun with tendersympathy. "Oh! how could Le Gardeur de Repentigny refuse a heart likeyours, Heloise, for the sake of that wild daughter of levity, Angeliquedes Meloises?
"But come, I will conduct you to the venerable Lady Superior, who is inthe garden conversing with Grand'mere St. Pierre, and your old friendand mistress, Mere Ste. Helene."
The news of the tragedy in the market-place had been early carried tothe Convent by the ubiquitous Bonhomme Michael, who was out that day onone of his multifarious errands in the service of the community.
The news had passed quickly through the Convent, agitating the usuallyquiet nuns, and causing the wildest commotion among the classesof girls, who were assembled at their morning lessons in the greatschoolroom. The windows were clustered with young, comely heads, lookingout in every direction, while nuns in alarm streamed from the longpassages to the lawn, where sat the venerable Superior, Mere Migeonde la Nativite, under a broad ash-tree, sacred to the Convent by thememories that clustered around it. The Ste. Therese of Canada, MereMarie de l'Incarnation, for lack of a better roof, in the first days ofher mission, used to gather around her under that tree the wild Huronsas well as the young children of the colonists, to give them their firstlessons in religion and letters.
Mere Esther held up her finger warningly to the nuns not to speak, asshe passed onward through the long corridors, dim with narrow lights andguarded by images of saints, until she came into an open square flaggedwith stones. In the walls of this court a door opened upon the gardeninto which a few steps downwards conducted them.
The garden of the monastery was spacious and kept with great care.The walks meandered around beds of flowers, and under the boughs ofapple-trees, and by espaliers of ancient pears and plums.
The fruit had long been gathered in, and only a few yellow leaves hungupon the autumnal trees, but the grass was still green on the lawn wherestood the great ash-tree of Mere Marie de l'Incarnation. The last hardyflowers of autumn lingered in this sheltered spot.
In these secluded alleys the quiet recluses usually walked and meditatedin peace, for here man's disturbing voice was never heard.
But to-day a cluster of agitated nuns gathered around the greatash-tree, and here and there stood groups of black and white veils; somewere talking, while others knelt silently before the guardian of thehouse, the image of St. Joseph, which overlooked this spot, consideredparticularly sacred to prayer and meditation.
The sight of Mere Esther, followed by the well-known figures of Amelieand Heloise, caused every head to turn with a look of recognition;but the nuns were too well disciplined to express either surprise orcuriosity in the presence of Mere Migeon, however much they felt ofboth. They stood apart at a sign from the Lady Superior, leaving herwith a nun attendant on each side to receive Mere Esther and her twocompanions.
Mere Migeon de la Nativite was old in years, but fresh in looks andalert in spirit. Her features were set in that peculiar expression ofdrooping eyelids and placid lips which belongs to the Convent, but shecould look up and flash out on occasion with an air of command derivedfrom high birth and a long exercise of authority as Superior of theUrsulines, to which office the community had elected her as manytrienniums as their rules permitted.
Mere Migeon had been nearly half a century a nun, and felt as much prideas humility in the reflection. She liked power, which, however, sheexercised wholly for the benefit of her subjects in the Convent, andwore her veil with as much dignity as the Queen her crown. But, if notexempt from some traces of human infirmity, she made amends by devotingherself night and day to the spiritual and temporal welfare of thecommunity, who submitted to her government with extreme deference andunquestioning obedience.
Mere Migeon had directed the two sorrowing ladies to be brought into thegarden, where she would receive them under the old tree of Mere Marie del'Incarnation.
She rose with affectionate eagerness as they entered, and embraced themone after the other, kissing them on the cheek; "her little prodigalsreturning to the house of their father and mother, after feeding on thehusks of vanity in the gay world which was never made for them."
"We will kill the fatted calf in honor of your return, Amelie. Will wenot, Mere Esther?" said the Lady Superior, addressing Amelie rather thanHeloise.
"Not for me, reverend Mere; you shall kill no fatted calf, real orsymbolical, for me!" exclaimed Amelie. "I come only to hide myself inyour cloister, to submit myself to your most austere discipline. I havegiven up all. Oh, my Mere, I have given up all! None but God can knowwhat I have given up forever!"
"You were to have married the son of the Bourgeois, were you not,Amelie?" asked the Superior, who, as the aunt of Varin, and by familyties connected with certain leading spirits of the Grand Company, had noliking for the Bourgeois Philibert; her feelings, too, had been wroughtupon by a recital of the sermon preached in the marketplace thatmorning.
"Oh, speak not of it, good Mere! I was betrothed to Pierre Philibert,and how am I requiting his love? I should have been his wife, but forthis dreadful deed of my brother. The Convent is all that is left to menow."
"Your aunt called herself the humble handmaid of Mary, and the lamp ofRepentigny will burn all the brighter trimmed by a daughter of her noblehouse," answered Mere Migeon.
"By two daughters, good Mere! Heloise is equally a daughter of ourhouse," replied Amelie, with a touch of feeling.
Mere Esther whispered a few words in the ear of the Superior, advisingher to concede every request of Amelie and Heloise, and returned to thewicket to answer some other hasty call from the troubled city.
Messengers despatched by Bonhomme Michael followed one another at shortintervals, bringing to the Convent exact details of all that occurredin the streets, with the welcome tidings at last that the threatenedoutbreak had been averted by the prompt interposition of the Governorand troops. Comparative quietness again reigned in every quarter of thecity.
Le Gardeur de Repentigny had voluntarily surrendered himself to theguard and given up his sword, being overwhelmed with remorse for hisact. He had been placed, not in irons as he had demanded, but as aprisoner in the strong ward of the Castle of St. Louis.
"I pray you, reverend Mere Superior," said Amelie, "permit us now togo into the Chapel of Saints to lay our hearts, as did our kinswoman,Madelaine de Repentigny, at the feet of our Lady of Grand Pouvoir."
"Go, my children, and our prayers shall go with you," replied theSuperior; "the lamp of Repentigny will burn brighter than ever to-nightto welcome you."
The Chapel of Saints was held in reverence as the most sacred place inthe monastery. It contained the shrines and relics of many saintsand martyrs. The devout nuns lavished upon it their choicest worksof embroidery, painting, and gilding, in the arts of which th
ey wereeminent. The old Sacristaine was kneeling before the altar as Amelie andHeloise entered the Chapel.
An image of the Virgin occupied a niche in the Chapel wall, and beforeit burned the silver lamp of Repentigny which had been hung there twogenerations before, in memory of the miraculous call of Madelaine deRepentigny and her victory over the world.
The high-bred and beautiful Madelaine had been the delight and pride ofVille Marie. Stricken with grief by the death of a young officer to whomshe was affianced, she retired to Quebec, and knelt daily at the feet ofour Lady of Pouvoir, beseeching her for a sign if it was her will thatshe should become an Ursuline.
The sign was given, and Madelaine de Repentigny at once exchanged hergay robes for the coarse black gown and veil, and hung up this votivelamp before the Madonna as a perpetual memorial of her miraculous call.
Seven generations of men have passed away since then. The house ofRepentigny has disappeared from their native land. Their name and famelie buried in oblivion, except in that little Chapel of the Saints wheretheir lamp still burns brightly as ever. The pious nuns of St. Ursule,as the last custodians of the traditions of New France, preserve thatsole memorial of the glories and misfortunes of the noble house,--thelamp of Repentigny.
Amelie and Heloise remained long in the Chapel of Saints, kneeling uponthe hard floor as they prayed with tears and sobs for the soul of theBourgeois and for God's pity and forgiveness upon Le Gardeur.
To Amelie's woes was added the terrible consciousness that, by this deedof her brother, Pierre Philibert was torn from her forever. She picturedto herself his grief, his love, his despair, perhaps his vengeance; andto add to all, she, his betrothed bride, had forsaken him and fled likea guilty thing, without waiting to see whether he condemned her.
An hour ago Amelie had been the envy and delight of her gay bridesmaids.Her heart had overflowed like a fountain of wine, intoxicating allabout her with joy at the hope of the speedy coming of her bridegroom.Suddenly the idols of her life had been shattered as by a thunderbolt,and lay in fragments around her feet.
The thought came upon her like the rush of angry wings. She knew thatall was over between her and Pierre. The cloister and the veil were allthat were left to Amelie de Repentigny.
"Heloise, dearest sister!" exclaimed she, "my conscience tells me I havedone right, but my heart accuses me of wrong to Pierre, of falseness tomy plighted vows in forsaking him; and yet, not for heaven itself wouldI have forsaken Pierre. Would that I were dead! Oh, what have I done,Heloise, to deserve such a chastisement as this from God?"
Amelie threw her arms around the neck of Heloise, and leaning her headon her bosom, wept long and without restraint, for none saw them saveGod.
"Listen!" said Heloise, as the swelling strain of the organ floatedup from the convent chapel. The soft voices of the nuns mingled inplaintive harmony as they sang the hymn of the Virgin:
"Pia Mater! Fons amoris! Me sentire vim doloris Fac, ut tecum lugeam!"
Again came the soft pleading notes of the sacred hymn:
"Quando corpus morietur, Fac ut animae donetur Paradisi gloria! Amen!"
The harmony filled the ears of Amelie and Heloise, like the lap ofthe waves of eternity upon the world's shore. It died away, and theycontinued praying before Our Lady of Grand Pouvoir.
The silence was suddenly broken. Hasty steps traversed the littlechapel. A rush of garments caused Amelie and Heloise to turn around, andin an instant they were both clasped in the passionate embrace of theLady de Tilly, who had arrived at the Convent.
"My dear children, my poor, stricken daughters," exclaimed she, kissingthem passionately and mingling her tears with theirs, "what have youdone to be dashed to the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath?"
"Oh, aunt, pardon us for what we have done!" exclaimed Amelie, "and fornot asking your consent, but alas! it is God's will and doing! I havegiven up the world; do not blame me, aunt!"
"Nor me, aunt!" added Heloise; "I have long known that the cloister wasmy sole heritage, and I now claim it."
"Blame you, darling! Oh, Amelie, in the shame and agony of this day Icould share the cloister with you myself forever, but my work is out inthe wide world, and I must not withdraw my hand!"
"Have you seen Le Gardeur? Oh, aunt! have you seen my brother?" askedAmelie, seizing her hand passionately.
"I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply. "Oh, Amelie! greatas is his offence, his crime, yes, I will be honest calling it such,--nodeeper contrition could rend his heart had he committed all the sinsforbidden in the Decalogue. He demands a court martial to condemn him atonce to death, upon his own self-accusation and confession of the murderof the good Bourgeois."
"Oh, aunt, and he loved the Bourgeois so! It seems like a hideous dreamof fright and nightmare that Le Gardeur should assail the father ofPierre Philibert, and mine that was to be!"
At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom of the Ladyde Tilly, convulsed and torn by as bitter sobs as ever drew human pity.
"Le Gardeur! Le Gardeur! Good God! what will they do with him, aunt? Ishe to die?" cried she imploringly, as with streaming eyes she looked upat her aunt.
"Listen, Amelie! Compose yourself and you shall hear. I was in theChurch of Notre Dame des Victoires when I received the tidings. It waslong before the messenger found me. I rose instantly and hastened tothe house of the Bourgeois, where its good master lay dead in his bloodyvesture. I cannot describe the sad sight, Amelie! I there learned thatthe Governor and La Corne St. Luc had been to the house of the Bourgeoisand had returned to the Castle."
"Oh, aunt, did you see him? Did you see the good old Bourgeois? And youknow he is dead?"
"Yes, Amelie, I saw him, and could have wished my eyesight blastedforever after. Do not ask me more."
"But I must, aunt! Did you see--oh, why may I not yet utter his dearname?--did you see Pierre?"
"Yes, Amelie. Pierre came home unexpectedly while I was weeping over thedead corpse of his father. Poor Pierre! my own sorrows were naught tohis silent grief! It was more terrible than the wildest outburst ofpassion I ever saw!"
"And what did he say? Oh, aunt, tell me all! Do not spare me one word,however bitter! Did he not curse you? Did he not curse me? And aboveall, Le Gardeur? Oh, he cursed us all; he heaped a blasting maledictionupon the whole house of Repentigny, did he not?"
"Amelie, be composed! Do not look at me so wildly with these dear eyes,and I will tell you." Her aunt tried to soothe her with fond caresses.
"I will be composed! I am calm! Look now, aunt, I am calm!" exclaimedthe grief-stricken girl, whose every nerve was quivering with wildexcitement.
The Lady de Tilly and Heloise made her sit down, while each heldforcibly a hand to prevent an access of hysteria. Mere Ste. Vierge roseand hastily left the chapel to fetch water.
"Amelie, the nobleness of Pierre Philibert is almost beyond the range offallible mortals," said the Lady de Tilly. "In the sudden crash of allhis hopes he would not utter a word of invective against your brother.His heart tells him that Le Gardeur has been made the senselessinstrument of others in this crime."
"A thousand thanks, dearest aunt, for your true appreciation of Pierre!I know he deserves it all; and when the veil covers my head forever fromthe eyes of men, it will be my sole joy to reflect that Pierre Philibertwas worthy, more than worthy, of my love! But what said he further,aunt? Oh, tell me all!"
"He rose from his knees beside the corpse of his father," continued thelady, "and seeing me kneeling, raised me and seated me in a chair besidehim. He asked me where you were, and who was with you to support andcomfort you in this storm of affliction. I told him, and he kissed me,exclaiming, 'Oh, aunt,--mother, what shall I do?'"
"Oh, aunt! did Pierre say that? Did he call you aunt and mother? And hedid not curse me at all? Poor Pierre!" And she burst out into a flood oftears which nothing could control.
"Yes Amelie! His heart is bleeding to death with this dreadfulsword-strok
e of Le Gardeur's," said the Lady de Tilly, after waitingtill she recovered somewhat.
"And will he not slay Le Gardeur? Will he not deem it his duty to killmy brother and his?" cried she. "He is a soldier and must!"
"Listen, Amelie. There is a divinity in Pierre that we see only inthe noblest of men; he will not slay Le Gardeur. He is his brother andyours, and will regard him as such. Whatever he might have done in thefirst impulse of anger, Pierre will not now seek the life of Le Gardeur.He knows too well whence this blow has really come. He has been deeplytouched by the remorse and self-accusation of Le Gardeur."
"I could kiss his feet! my noble Pierre! Oh, aunt, aunt! what have Inot lost! But I was betrothed to him, was I not?" She started up with ashriek of mortal agony. "They never can recall that!" she cried wildly."He was to have been mine! He is still mine, and forever will be mine!Death will reunite what in life is sundered! Will it not, aunt?"
"Yes; be composed, darling, and I will tell you more. Nay, do not lookat me so, Amelie!" The Lady de Tilly stroked her cheek and kissedthe dark eyes that seemed flaring out of their sockets with maddeningexcitement.
"When I had recovered strength enough to go to the Castle to see theCount, Pierre supported me thither. He dared not trust himself to seeLe Gardeur, who from his prison sent message after message to him to begdeath at his hand.
"I held a brief conference with the Governor, La Corne St. Luc, anda few gentlemen, who were hastily gathered together in thecouncil-chamber. I pleaded long, not for pardon, not even for LeGardeur could I ask for pardon, Amelie!" exclaimed the just and noblewoman,--"but for a calm consideration of the terrible circumstanceswhich had surrounded him in the Palace of the Intendant, and which hadled directly to the catastrophe."
"And what said they? Oh, be quick, aunt! Is not Le Gardeur to be triedby martial law and condemned at once to death?"
"No, Amelie! The Count de la Galissoniere, with the advice of hiswisest counsellors, among whom is your godfather and others, the dearestfriends of both families, have resolved to send Le Gardeur to France bythe Fleur de Lys, which sails to-morrow. They do this in order that theKing may judge of his offence, as also to prevent the conflict that mayarise between the contending factions in the Colony, should they try himhere. This resolution may be wise, or not, I do not judge; but suchis the determination of the Governor and Council, to which all mustsubmit."
Amelie held her head between her palms for some moments. She wasviolently agitated, but she tried to consider, as best she might, thedecision with regard to her brother.
"It is merciful in them," she said, "and it is just. The King will judgewhat is right in the sight of God and man. Le Gardeur was but a blindinstrument of others in this murder, as blind almost as the sword heheld in his hand. But shall I not see him, aunt, before he is sentaway?"
"Alas, no! The Governor, while kind, is inexorable on one point. He willpermit no one, after this, to see Le Gardeur, to express either blame orapproval of his deed, or to report his words. He will forbid you and meand his nearest friends from holding any communication with him beforehe leaves the Colony. The Count has remitted his case to the King, andresolved that it shall be accompanied by no self-accusation which LeGardeur may utter in his frantic grief. The Count does this in justiceas well as mercy, Amelie."
"Then I shall never see my brother more in this world,--never!"exclaimed Amelie, supporting herself on the arm of Heloise. "His fate isdecided as well as mine, and yours too, O Heloise."
"It may not be so hard with him as with us, Amelie," replied Heloise,whose bosom was agitated with fresh emotions at every allusion to LeGardeur. "The King may pardon him, Amelie." Heloise in her soul hopedso, and in her heart prayed so.
"Alas! If we could say God pardoned him!" replied Amelie, her thoughtsrunning suddenly in a counter-current. "But my life must be spent inimploring God's grace and forgiveness all the same, whether man forgivehim or no."
"Say not my life, but our lives, Amelie. We have crossed the thresholdof this house together for the last time. We go no more out to look upona world fair and beautiful to see, but so full of disappointment andwretchedness to have experience of!"
"My daughters," exclaimed the Lady de Tilly, "another time we will speakof this. Harken, Amelie! I did not tell you that Pierre Philibert camewith me to the gate of the Convent to see you. He would have entered,but the Lady Superior refused inexorably to admit him even to theparlor."
"Pierre came to the Convent,--to the Convent?" repeated Amelie with fonditeration, "and they would not admit him. Why would they not admit him?But I should have died of shame to see him. They were kind in theircruelty. Poor Pierre! he thinks me still worthy of some regard." Shecommenced weeping afresh.
"He would fain have seen you, darling," said her aunt. "Your flightto the Convent--he knows what it means--overwhelms him with a newcalamity."
"And yet it cannot be otherwise. I dare not place my hand in his now,for it would redden it! But it is sweet amid my affliction to know thatPierre has not forgotten me, that he does not hate me, nay, that hestill loves me, although I abandon the world and him who to me was thelight of it. Why would they not admit him?"
"Mere Migeon is as hard as she is just, Amelie. I think too she has nolove for the Philiberts. Her nephew Varin has all the influence of aspoilt son over the Lady Superior."
Amelie scarcely regarded the last remark of her aunt, but repeated thewords, "Hard and just! Yes, it is true, and hardness and justice arewhat I crave in my misery. The flintiest couch shall be to me a bed ofdown, the scantiest fare a royal feast, the hardest penance a life ofpleasure. Mere Migeon cannot be more hard nor more just to me than Iwould be to myself."
"My poor Amelie! My poor Heloise!" repeated the lady, stroking theirhair and kissing them both alternately; "be it as God wills. When it isdark every prospect lies hid in the darkness, but it is there all thesame, though we see it not; but when the day returns everything isrevealed. We see naught before us now but the image of our Lady ofGrand Pouvoir illumined by the lamp of Repentigny, but the sun ofrighteousness will yet arise with healing on his wings for us all! Butoh, my children, let nothing be done hastily, rashly, or unbecoming thedaughters of our honorable house."