Madame Perrault, who was in the next room, called out: "It's no use
trying to persuade her not to go to high mass, monsieur. She'd think
something terrible was going to happen to her if she didn't go. Now, I
go at eight o'clock; so I have the rest of the day free."
Jules looked at Mademoiselle Blanche and smiled, and she smiled back.
"I like to hear the music," she explained apologetically.
"Oh, she's too religious for _this_ world," Madame Perrault laughed. "I
believe she'd go to mass every morning of her life if she didn't have to
stay up so late at night. She ought to be in a convent instead of a
circus."
"In a convent!" Jules exclaimed, in mock alarm.
"Don't you ever go to church?" the girl asked, turning to Jules.
He looked confused again. "I? Well, no. To tell the truth, I haven't
been in a church for nearly ten years. Oh, yes I have. I went to a
funeral two years ago at the Trinity."
"But weren't you--weren't you brought up to go to church?"
"Brought up to go to church? Oh, yes; my mother went to church every
Sunday of her life. I used to go with her after my father died."
A long silence followed. Mademoiselle Blanche turned again to the fire,
and Jules had a sensation of extreme unpleasantness. Like many
Parisians, he never thought about religion. He had been so affected by
the skepticism of his associates that he had no real belief in any
doctrine. He saw now for the first time that serious complications might
arise from his religious indifference. It was very disagreeable, he
thought, to be confronted with it in this way. Indeed, the more he
thought about it, the more annoyed he became. He felt that he must
justify himself in some way. So at last he spoke up: "I suppose you're
shocked because I don't go to church, aren't you, mademoiselle?"
Mademoiselle Blanche looked down at her hands lying folded in her lap.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" he repeated, trying to laugh. "Why are you sorry? I rather like
it. I never did enjoy going to church."
"We don't go to church to enjoy it, do we?" she asked gently.
He sank back in his seat, and looked at her. "No, I suppose not." Then,
after a moment, he suddenly leaned forward. "We can't all be good like
you, mademoiselle. Perhaps if I had known you always, I should go to
church. I'd do anything to please you."
"But you ought not to go to please me. You ought to go for your own
good."
"So you think it does good, then--going to church?"
"I'm sure of it," she replied, gazing into the fire. "Sometimes,--when I
feel unhappy because I haven't seen the girls for so long, and because I
must be separated from them so much, or when Aunt Sophie complains about
Jeanne, or Jeanne has been unkind to Louise, or disobedient, then, after
I've been to church, I feel better."
"Why do you feel better?" he asked, more to keep her talking than
because he cared for her answer.
"Because I feel sure," she went on, holding her head down, "I feel sure
it will all come out right--if I only have faith. Jeanne is a good girl;
she's never disobedient or unkind with me."
"Then you worry about Jeanne?"
"Yes--sometimes."
"But you don't worry so much after you've been at church?"
"No."
"And that is why you like to go to church?"
"That's one reason. But there are others--a great many others."
He felt like laughing at the simplicity of her reasoning, and yet he was
touched. He had a sudden desire to take her in his arms and stroke her
soft hair and tell her he loved her. Then he heard her mother's step in
the next room, and this roused him.
"I should like to go to church with you sometimes," he said. "May I?"
"Take him to-morrow, Blanche," cried Madame Perrault, and at that moment
Jules could have kissed her, too. "There's going to be a special service
at _St. Philippe de Roule_ at ten o'clock. The music will be good."
That was how Jules first happened to go to church with Mademoiselle
Blanche. After mass they walked up the _Champs Elysees_ and then along
the _avenue du Bois de Boulogne_, in the midst of the multitude of
promenaders. A few of the men recognized the girl, and turned to look
after her. She seemed not to see them, but Jules did, and he felt very
proud to be her escort. She looked very pretty in her tight-fitting
black jacket and little hat tipped with fur, her cheeks scarlet with the
early frost. She was the last person in the crowd, Jules thought, who
would be taken for an acrobat. It seemed to him wonderful that she
should appear so unlike the marvel that she was, and this lack of
resemblance to herself made her the more attractive to him.
After that day, Jules went to church with Mademoiselle Blanche every
Sunday. At first the sight of the priests in their vestments, of the
altar-boys in their white surplices, of the white altar gleaming with
candles and plate and enshrouded in incense, and the reverberation of
the organ, mingled with the voices singing the music of the mass, all
reminded him so strongly of his mother, that his old affection for her
swept over him, and brought tears to his eyes.
His own disbelief had made him doubt even the faith of others. It had
also inspired him with the hatred for priests, so common even among
Parisians of traditions like his own. Now, as he watched them, chanting
at the altar, they seemed harmless as other men. He tried, as he went
mechanically through the service, to count the men he knew who went to
church. Nearly all of his acquaintances, he found, scoffed at it. Then
gradually the service became subtly mingled with his love for the girl
beside him, and for her sake he loved it. The organ seemed to sing her
praise exultingly. He would have liked to tell her of this fancy, but he
did not dare; he knew it would shock her. In a short time, going through
the mass with her grew to mean to him an expression of his love, a
spiritual exaltation which he offered as a tribute, not to God, but to
her.