Felicie's untiring energy had really provided a very pretty welcome for
the bishop. She had collected all the children far and near, given them
flags and garlands of vine to carry, and grouped them at the entrance of
the chateau. Raoul was there, kept quiet by the fond belief that he was
acting as colonel, and, much to his aunt's distress, steadily persistent
in refusing to carry anything except his sword. The sight, with the old
grey chateau behind, and the gayly coloured swarm of little creatures in
front, was charming, and so the bishop said to his chaplain as he drove
up, and set all the aprons and hats waving. Then Leon with the abbe and
two neighbouring vicaires advanced to the door of the carriage to
welcome him, and, smiling and blessing his little flock with uplifted
hand, monseigneur passed into the house to be received by the ladies of
the family.
To Nathalie the prospect of a guest, in a time of such perplexity and
trouble, had seemed a terrible ordeal, but Mme. de Beaudrillart thought
that to put off the bishop's visit would be at once to excite surprise
in the neighbourhood, and Leon had taken the same view. They had
curtailed their intended hospitalities, however, and only some half a
dozen of the principal people of the neighbourhood, with the clergy
already at the chateau, were invited to dinner.
Nathalie had once beheld the bishop in the cathedral at Tours,
immediately after he was installed, but it was at a distance, and she
had only been aware of a large man, who wore his gorgeous vestments with
a magnificent air. Now that she saw him close at hand, she was
immediately attracted by the strength and charm of his expression, and
by a breadth of kindliness which she had not anticipated. He, on his
part, was a sympathetic reader of faces, and he had not been five
minutes in the house before he had convinced himself that the shadow of
sorrow rested upon the family. Mme. de Beaudrillart's usual rigid
dignity was shaken by an emotion which looked like that of fear, and the
sadness of sleepless nights hung heavy on Nathalie's eyes, while Leon
was white and nervous, talking hastily and restlessly, and unable to
keep still for many consecutive minutes. Felicie was the only one who
had forgotten their troubles in delight at the achievement of her
purpose, and it must be owned that her respectful colourless chatter
bored the bishop frightfully, the more so because he took himself to
task for his impatience. He was much more interested in the others with
their evident impending trouble, even in Mlle. Claire's sharp, bitter
speeches. Raoul attracted his notice at once, and he praised him warmly
to his grandmother, but Mme. de Beaudrillart's face did not lighten; he
even fancied that he had unconsciously touched the wound, whatever it
was. With the young wife he had no opportunity of speaking, and,
indeed, she had learned silence when strangers were present; he noticed,
however, that her eyes rested constantly on her husband, and that when
he left the room she immediately slipped out after him. The evening was
not gay, though Mme. Lemballe vied with Felicie in devoted homage, and
M. and Mme. de la Ferraye did their best in a languishing conversation.
That night a tremendous thunder-storm broke over the province, and
torrents of rain fell to the north of Poissy. That only the fringe of
the storm reached Poissy, Felicie always ascribed to a miraculous
interposition on behalf of her cherished decorations, but the proof of
its violence elsewhere was to be found in the swift rising of the river.
It ran with wintry force, and from its darkened colour, and the
vegetation it brought down, had evidently overflowed its banks higher
up, and caused considerable damage. This, however, was the only grave
result of the storm at Poissy. There the rain had merely been
sufficient to freshen everything, and to give an indescribable
brilliancy to the foliage. The great walnut-tree to the left of the
chateau glistened in the morning sun, a fresh little breeze fluttered
the poplars, and the lizards stole out again, and darted here and there
in the crannies of the old stones.
All Felicie's dreams were carried out. The bishop officiated at
high-mass, the white church was crowded with worshippers--M. Georges
among the number--and the procession which conducted him afterwards to
the little hospital which was to be opened for the very old people of
the neighbourhood was thick with banners, and did credit to her
training. Only one terrible disappointment came to her--the bishop,
although he did not say much, managing to express his dislike to her
paper flowers, and the gewgaws which decked the altar. She could
scarcely keep back her tears, for there was no mistaking the few words
he uttered, and to her own thinking the effect had been unequalled.
Setting this aside, however, all had gone admirably; there was nothing,
she felt sure, in which even Mme. Lemballe could pick a hole. And when
they were all back at the chateau again, she was feverishly anxious for
her reward in the shape of a private interview with, and a special
blessing from, the bishop, together with instructions as to how the
money for the next pilgrimage should be raised. But Claire, who was
moodily wandering from room to room, gave her unwelcome intelligence.
"Monseigneur is in the grounds talking to Nathalie, and his carriage is
ordered in half an hour."
"To Nathalie! How has Nathalie got hold of him? What has she to do
with him!"
"As much as any of us, I suppose. And it is he who has got hold of her,
for he asked to speak to her."
"Oh!" cried Felicie discomfited. The next moment she exclaimed: "I
should not wonder in the least if he has heard of the books she reads.
I shall be obliged to see him about the pilgrimage, and I dare say he
will tell me."
Her sister looked at her in displeasure.
"For pity's sake, do not talk any more about those trifles! Do you
never think of what is hanging over us?"
Felicie took refuge in tears.
"How unkind you are, Claire! Of course I think of it a great deal in my
prayers. But I believe his Grandeur's visit will bring a blessing, and
this morning Leon seems quite himself again."
Claire flung back her head. "Sometimes I think," she said, "that Leon
has no soul, though of course you do not understand what I mean."
"No soul!" Felicie stared amazedly. Claire turned and hurried away.
It was quite true, as Mlle. de Beaudrillart said, that the bishop had
asked for young Mme. Leon, and that they were at that moment walking
together in the kitchen-garden, between strawberry beds, of which the
leaves were turning brown and bronze. More than ever, in the church,
had her face, with its strength and sadness, interested him. He felt as
if he could not leave that face behind without trying to bring a little
comfort; and if there was a pinch of curiosity mixed with his
never-failing sympathy, who will blame him? With womanlike tact he went
straight to his point.
"My daughter," he said, "you are in trouble."