"No, monseigneur, I could not," she said, scarcely audibly.
"Well, then, let me tell you that you are right, splendidly right," he
said, his face brightened by his appreciation. "Do not let any one
persuade you to the contrary. For your husband's soul as well as for
his honour, yours is the only saving course, and at whatever cost of
suffering--for you will both suffer--hold fast to it. If ever, in any
way, I can help you, send for me. I shall remember you in my prayers,
and thank God that He has made you braver than most women--yet I ought
not to say that, for you women put us to shame."
If Nathalie were womanlike in courage, she was womanlike in this also:
that the moment she had got his approval, she began to doubt.
"There is our boy," she said. "When I remember him, I am ready to
shrink."
"Will it do him good to have a father who sheltered himself behind a
lie? Think only of that. My daughter, I do not fear for you. I
believe that God will give you strength to prevail, but I wish I were
permitted to help you."
"Monseigneur, you have helped me. Until now I have been alone, and to
know that you are on my side--But I have kept you too long, and here
comes Felicie."
"Ah," said the bishop, smiling, "and she will have a great deal to say."
As the carriage with the bishop and his chaplain rolled out of the white
gates, a man on horseback passed it, who had the appearance of having
ridden hard. Leon, his wife, and his sisters were still standing by the
entrance as he clattered up.
"The Baron de Beaudrillart?" he said taking off his hat.
"Here." Leon stepped forward with a white face.
"Monsieur Rodoin sent me down with this for monsieur," he said, handing
a letter.
He tore it open.
"I think it well to inform you that Monsieur Lemaire intends proceeding
to extremes; that he has instructed the Procureur de la Republique, and
that in all probability you will be arrested to-morrow or the next day.
I have learned this from a sure source."