A STRANGE INTERVIEW
Early on the following morning Alide left the house alone. Her grave,
preoccupied air, her firm, self-confident carriage, no less than her
bourgeois attire, were sufficient protection for her in the city
streets. She directed her steps towards the Cathedral, walking as
securely and fearlessly as though she were in the meadows at home. She
was sick at heart, faint and terrified at the shadow which she foresaw
about to fall upon her life, and she had need of solemn meditation and
prayer. It was not the hour of service, but the organ was playing, and
there were a few worshipers scattered among the aisles. Not far from the
entrance knelt a woman in mourning, her face buried in her hands, and
her form occasionally convulsed by stifled sobs. Alide could not fail to
see her, and a sharp pang of pity smote her heart; but the stranger's
grief was sacred, and at that moment beyond her compassion, and,
averting her eyes, she glanced up at the altar, bowed her head meekly,
folded her hands upon her breast, and sank down upon her knees.
What a throng of powerful emotions filled her heart to bursting and sent
the hot tears streaming from her eyes! Could that terrible nightmare be
the end of her beautiful dream? With all her might she strove to put the
evil thought away from her; she denied it utterly, she tried to stifle
it by directing her mind to the contemplation of things holy and
eternal. This was the source whence she had never yet failed to draw
serenity and courage, and to-day again she succeeded insomuch that when
she rose to leave the Minster she was once more at peace. As she walked
slowly down the long aisle, she was startled by seeing that the mourner
whom she had remarked on entering had fallen from her kneeling posture
and was lying motionless with her face downward. She advanced towards
her and touched her gently on the shoulder. The woman did not move.
"Mein Gott! if she be dead!" thought Alide, in affright, and looked
around for help; but there was nobody near, and she did not dare to
profane the sacred quiet of the place by a cry or a call. She stooped
over the prostrate figure, disencumbered the head from the heavy folds
of the veil, and with an effort upraised the face. It was that of a
woman scarcely older than herself, of a strange, severe beauty, and its
deathly pallor was heightened by the intense blackness of the thick
masses of hair that waved over the forehead.
"Poor thing! but it is only a faint," said Alide to herself, as she
perceived the slight rise and fall of the woman's chest; and, gently
leaning the passive form against a column, she hastened away to beg the
assistance of the sacristan. With his aid she gradually succeeded in
restoring life to the sick woman, who stirred, opened her closely-locked
lips, and raised her large, dark eyes with a bewildered expression.
Alide spoke to her, and offered her some water to drink.
"You have not been well, my friend," said she: "are you strong enough
now to let us help you out of the church, where you can breathe some
fresh air?"
The woman looked at her with a grateful expression, but did not answer;
she drank the water which Alide held out to her, and then said, in a low
voice, as if she did not expect to be understood, "Je ne comprends pas,"
and made an effort to rise to her feet.
"Ah, she is a foreigner," grumbled the sacristan. "What is to be done,
Fräulein?"
"That is nothing; I will make her understand," replied Alide; and she
repeated in French what she had already said. She herself, as her name
betokened, was of French descent, and the pastor had instructed his
children in that language, which they spoke with rare sweetness and
precision.
The stranger looked at her in surprise, and a smile of satisfaction lit
up her austere features. "Ah, how good it is to hear one's own language
like that!" said she. "You are an angel, mademoiselle. Yes, I am quite
strong enough, if this good man will lend me his arm to go into the air.
That is what I need. This hot building stifled me; I thought the walls
were closing in upon me, I felt myself fall, and then--nothing! Did I
cry out? where did you come from? how did you find me?"
She had a wild, almost fierce look in her large eyes, and her voice
sounded rather too loud to Alide for the sacred edifice.
"Never mind that now, my friend," answered she: "I will tell you all
when we get outside. Only now try to walk a step."
They helped her to her feet, and, leaning heavily on the sacristan's
arm, she succeeded in reaching the vestry-room. In spite of her
weakness, she absolutely refused to take Alide's hand to enable her to
walk, but nevertheless begged her to sit with her a little while until
she felt able to go into the street again. The window was open, and the
fresh air soon revived her. She sat without speaking, drinking in the
soft summer breeze, with her eyes fixed upon the sky. Great tears
quivered upon her lashes, but did not fall. Alide had never seen
anything more beautiful and more melancholy than this strange face. The
features were regular in outline, and severe to sternness, and yet the
expression was that of a passionate nature, owing to the sensuous effect
of heavy eyebrows that met over the nose, the peculiar glance of the
eyes, and the bold appearance given to the whole face by the arrangement
of the hair, which was parted at the side, overshadowing with its
luxuriance the square forehead. If she had not been so sad, Alide would
almost have experienced a sensation of fear. As it was, her tender heart
was overflowing with a vast pity; she wondered what the stranger's
trouble was, and if it could not be alleviated. But no,--those black
mourning robes proved too plainly a trouble that could know no
compensation on earth. Thank God, she had been spared an affliction like
that! If Wolfgang had died,--no, she could not endure the thought. And
to think that this morning she had been miserable, because for a single
day he had not cherished her with his wonted devotion! Now she was
brought in the presence of grief, and what a mockery it made of her
imaginary trouble! Who could be gentle enough to one who had suffered as
this poor girl? Actuated by a sudden strong impulse of sympathy and
tenderness, Alide stood up by the stranger's side, and, bending over
her, kissed her forehead. The woman started and looked at her in
amazement; the tears that had stood in her eyes gathered and streamed
down her pale cheeks.
"You are an angel of heaven!" she cried. "I am not worthy to touch your
pure, kind hand, and you do not hesitate to kiss my brow. But do not be
afraid," she added, drawing back; "I will not harm you, I will not come
near you; but the good God will let me breathe for a little while the
atmosphere of one so pure and so gentle, and only He knows how I have
suffered." And, once more averting her head, she leaned against the
window and looked up at the sky.
Alide was indeed a little frightened, but her compassion overpowered all
other feelings, and, advancing again, she said, "Are you not my sister
in Christ? You cannot harm me, my poor girl, but I may help you. You
have been ill just now, and you must not excite yourself like this. Sit
down by my side, and perhaps you will grow calmer."
The woman dropped upon her knees before Alide, buried her head in the
young girl's lap, and sobbed aloud. For a long time Alide talked to her
as wisely as she knew, about the blessed consolations of a faith that
promised everlasting mercy to the repentant sinner. It was not her
words, which were the ordinary commonplaces of every priest and parson,
but it was the earnest conviction, the simple piety, and, more than all,
the unexampled kindness and sympathy, that softened and quieted the
poor, fallen creature at her feet. She listened as if in a dream of
peace to this gentle young girl, who seemed to her a living saint; but
she did not confess herself: she felt that it would have been a wrong to
that innocent, candid soul. At last they separated; the stranger
insisted that she was quite able to find her way home alone, and she
would not hear of Alide's taking a step with her in the street. Again
and again she thanked her for her angelic kindness, and kissed
reverently and humbly the hand which Alide offered her at parting. "May
I ask you one thing more, mademoiselle?" she said, timidly, after taking
a last, long look at the noble, delicate face before her. "Your name?"
"Alide Duroc. And yours, that I may pray for you?"
"Lucinda."