MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
As soon as Christian returned home, late towards midnight, he hastened
to communicate to his guest the occurrences at Montmartre. Monsieur John
concluded it was urgent to assemble the chiefs of the Reformation in the
abandoned quarry, where there was no danger of apprehending the return
of the Jesuits, seeing that Ignatius Loyola was to depart immediately
for Rome, while his disciples were to scatter to the distant countries
parceled out to them. Finally, if, as Christian persisted with good
reason in believing, Lefevre had noticed the presence of the two
artisans at the Jesuit conventicle, it would be an additional reason to
keep them from returning to the spot. Accordingly, Monsieur John decided
to convoke the chiefs of the Reformation in Paris for six o'clock in the
afternoon of the following day at Montmartre. To this effect he prepared
a letter giving the directions to the trysting place. Justin was to
proceed in time to make certain that the second issue was practicable.
Furthermore, it was agreed between Bridget and her husband that she
would absent herself together with her daughter before sunset, in order
to allow the stranger to leave the house unnoticed by Hena. On his
part, Christian was to pretend an invitation to supper with a friend, in
order to engage his son's company in a walk, and was to dismiss him when
he thought that Monsieur John had departed. The program was carried out
as agreed. When Bridget and Hena returned home after a short walk along
the banks of the Seine, the proscribed man had quitted his hospitable
refuge, and betaken him to the Montmartre Gate, where Christian was to
await him, and conduct him to the place of meeting.
The artisan's wife and daughter busied themselves at their trade of
embroidery. They worked in silence by the light of a lamp--Bridget
musing over Herve's repentance, while Hena, lost in revery, frequently
allowed her needle to drop inactive on her lap. The young girl was
absorbed in her own thoughts, a stranger to what went on around her. The
hour of nine struck from the distant clock in the tower of St.
James-of-the-Slaughter-House.
"Nine o'clock," observed Bridget to herself. "My son can not be long in
coming back. With what joy shall I not embrace him this evening! What a
heavy load did not his repentance roll off my heart! The dear child!"
And addressing Hena without removing her eyes from her needlework:
"God be blessed! Dear child, you will no longer have cause to complain
of Herve's indifference. No, no! And when my little Odelin comes back
from Italy we shall then all live together again, happy as of old. I am
awaiting with impatience the return of Master Raimbaud, the armorer,
who will bring us back our gentle Odelin."
Not receiving any answer from her daughter, Bridget looked up and said
to her:
"I have been speaking to you some time, dear daughter. You do not seem
to hear me. Why are you so absentminded?"
Hena remained silent for an instant, then she smiled and answered
naively:
"Singular as it may be, why should I not tell you, mother? It would be
the first time in my life that I kept a secret from you."
"Well, my child, what is the reason of your absent-mindedness?"
"It is--well, it is Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, mother."
Dropping her embroidery, Bridget contemplated her daughter with extreme
astonishment. Hena, however, proceeded with a candid smile:
"Does that astonish you, mother? I am, myself, a good deal more
astonished."
Hena uttered these words with such ingenuousness, her handsome face,
clear as her soul, turned to her mother with such trustfulness, that
Bridget, at once uneasy and confident--uneasy, by reason of the
revelation; confident, by reason of Hena's innocent assurance--said to
her after a short pause:
"Indeed, dear daughter, I am astonished at what I learn from you. You
saw, it seems to me, Brother St. Ernest-Martyr only two or three times
at our friend Mary La Catelle's, before that unhappy affair of the
other evening on the bridge."
"Yes, mother. And that is just the extraordinary thing about it. Since
day before yesterday I constantly think of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr.
And that is not all. Last night I dreamt of him!"
"Dreamt of him!" exclaimed Bridget.
So far from evading her mother's gaze, Hena's only answer was two
affirmative nods of the head, which she gave, opening wide her beautiful
blue eyes, in which the childlike and charming astonishment, that her
own sentiments caused her, was depicted.
"Yes, mother; I dreamt of him. I saw him picking up at the door of a
church a poor child that shook with cold. I saw him pick up the child,
hold it in his arms, warm it with his breath, and contemplate it with so
pitying and tender an air, that the tears forced themselves to my eyes.
I was so moved that I woke up with a start--and I really wept!"
"That dream is singular, my daughter!"
"Singular? No! The dream is explainable enough. Day before yesterday
Herve was telling me of the charitable nature of Brother St.
Ernest-Martyr. That same evening we saw the poor monk carried into our
house with his face bleeding. That I should have been deeply impressed,
and should have dreamt of him, I understand. But what I do not
understand is that when I am awake, wide awake, I should still think of
him. Look, even now, when I shut my eyes"--and, smiling, Hena suited the
action to the words--"I still see him as if he stood there, with that
kind face of his that he turns upon the little children."
"But, my dear daughter, when you think of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr,
what is the nature of your thoughts?"
Hena pondered for an instant, and then answered:
"I would not know how to explain it to you, mother. When I think of him
I say to myself: 'How good, how generous, how brave is Brother St.
Ernest-Martyr! Day before yesterday he braved the sword to defend Mary
La Catelle; another day, on the Notre Dame Bridge, he leaped into the
water to save an unhappy man who was drowning; he picks up little
deserted children, or gives them instruction with so much interest and
affection that their own father could not display more solicitude in
them.'"
"Thinking over it, dear child, there is nothing in all that but what is
perfectly natural. The brother is an upright man. Your thoughts turn
upon his good deeds. That's quite simple."
"No, mother, it is not quite so simple as you put it! Are not you all
that is best in this world? Is not my father as upright a man as Brother
St. Ernest-Martyr? Are not you two my beloved and venerated parents? And
yet--that is what puzzles me, how comes it that I oftener think of him
than of either of you?"
And after a pause the young maid added in an accent of adorable candor:
"I tell you, mother, it is truly extraordinary!"
Several impatient raps, given at the street door interrupted the
conversation. Bridget said to her daughter:
"Open the window, and see who it is that knocks. Probably it is your
brother."
"Yes, mother; it is he; it is Herve," said Hena, opening the window.
She descended to the floor below.
"My God!" thought Bridget to herself in no slight agitation. "How am I
to interpret the confidence of Hena? Her soul is incapable of
dissimulation. She has told me the whole truth, without being aware of
the sentiments the young monk awakens in her. I can hardly wait to
inform Christian of this strange discovery!"
The sound of Herve's steps hurriedly ascending the stairs drew Bridget
from her brown study. She saw her son rush in, followed by his sister.
As he stepped into the room he cried with a troubled countenance:
"Oh, mother! mother!" and embracing her tenderly he added: "Oh, mother!
What sad news I bring you!"
"Dear child, what is it?"
"Our poor Mary La Catelle--"
"What has happened to her?"
"This evening, as I was about to leave the printing shop, father asked
me to accompany him part of the way. He was going to a friend's, with
whom he was to take supper this evening. Father said: 'La Catelle's
house is on our way, we shall drop in and inquire whether she is still
suffering from her painful experience of the other evening'--"
"Yesterday morning," Bridget broke in, "after I took her home with your
sister, we left Mary calm and at ease. She is a brave woman."
"Notwithstanding her firm nature and her self-control, she succumbed to
the reaction of that night's excitement. Last night she was seized with
a high fever. She was bled twice to-day. A minute ago we found her in a
desperate state. A fatal end is apprehended."
"Poor Mary!" exclaimed Hena, clasping her hands in despair, and her eyes
filling with tears. "What a misfortune! This news overwhelms me with
sorrow!"
"Unhappily her sister-in-law left yesterday for Meaux with her husband,"
remarked Herve. "La Catelle, at death's door, is left at this moment to
the care of a servant."
"Hena, quick, my cloak!" said Bridget rising precipitately from her
seat. "I can not leave that worthy friend to the care of mercenary
hands. I shall run to her help."
"Good, dear mother, you but forestall father's wishes," observed Herve,
as his sister hurried to take Bridget's cloak out of a trunk. "Father
told me to hurry and notify you of this misfortune. He said he knew how
attached you were to our friend, and that you would wish to spend the
night at her bed, and render her the care she stands in need of."
Wrapping herself in her cloak, Bridget was about to leave the house.
"Mother," said Hena, "will you not take me with you?"
"How can you think of such a thing, child, at this hour of night!"
"Sister, it is for me to escort mother," put in Herve; and, with a
tender voice, accompanied with the offer of his forehead for Bridget to
kiss, the hypocrite added:
"Is it not the sweetest of my duties to watch over you, good mother?"
"Oh," said Bridget, moved, and kissing her son's forehead, "I recognize
you again, my son!" With this passing allusion to the painful incidents
of the last few days, which she had already forgiven, the unsuspecting
mother proceeded: "A woman of my age runs no risk on the street, my son;
besides, I do not wish your sister to remain alone in the house."
"I am not afraid, mother," Hena responded. "I shall bolt the door from
within. I shall feel easier that way than to have you go out without
company at this hour of night. Why, mother, remember what happened to La
Catelle night before last! Let Herve go with you."
"Mother," put in Herve, "you hear what my dear sister says."
"Children, we are losing precious time. Let us not forget that, at this
hour, our friend may be expiring in the hands of a stranger. Good-bye!"
"How unlucky that just to-day our uncle should have gone to St. Denis!"
put in Herve with a sigh. But seeming to be struck with an idea he
added: "Mother, why could not both Hena and I accompany you?"
"Oh, darling brother, you deserve an embrace, twenty embraces, for that
bright thought," said the young girl, throwing her arms around Herve's
neck. "It is agreed, mother, we shall all three go together."
"Impossible. The house can not be left alone, children. Who will open
the door to your father when he comes home? Besides, did not Master
Simon send us yesterday a little bag of pearls to embroider on the
velvet gown for the Duchess of Etampes? The pearls are of considerable
value. I would feel very uneasy if these valuable articles remained
without anybody to watch them. Knowing you are here, Herve, I shall feel
easy on that score," remarked Bridget with a look of affectionate
confidence that seemed to say to her son: "Yesterday you committed
larceny; but you are now again an honorable boy; to-day I can entrust
you with the guardianship of my treasure."
Herve divined his mother's thoughts. He raised her hand to his lips and
said:
"Your trust in me shall be justified."
"Still, this very evening, shortly before nightfall, we left the house
all alone for a walk along the river," objected Hena. "Why should we run
any greater risk now, if we go out all three of us?"
"Dear daughter, it was then still light; the shops of our neighbors were
still open; burglars would not have dared to make a descent upon us at
such a time. At this hour, on the contrary, all the shops being closed,
and the streets almost deserted, thieves are in season."
"And it is just at such an hour that you are going to expose yourself,
mother."
"I have nothing about me to tempt the cupidity of thieves. Good-bye!
Good-bye, my children!" Bridget said hastily, and embracing Hena and her
brother: "To-morrow morning, my dear girl, your father will take you to
La Catelle's, where you will find me. We shall return home together.
Herve, light me downstairs."
Preceded by her son, who carried the lamp, Bridget quickly descended the
stairs and left the house.