for the throng was very great; but at length Félix, who had marched
with the children in the last group, came to the threshold and stepped
out into the starry night.
He stood for a moment smiling and gazing aimlessly ahead, overwhelmed
with the glory of all that had passed within the church. Presently he
felt some one pluck his sleeve, and turning round, he met the dancing
eyes of the little Lady Elinor.
She gave a little peal of laughter at his surprise, and exclaimed: “Oh,
I coaxed _mon père_, the count, to fetch me hither for this blessed
night. Thou knowest he promised! I rode my white palfrey all the way by
the side of his big brown horse. And I have seen the procession, and
Beppo with my red ribbon round his neck.” Here she gave another little
gurgle of delight.
“And oh, Félix, my father hath seen thine, and ’tis all settled! Thou
art to be a famous carver with the Père Videau, as thou wishest,”—for
the Lady Elinor had unbounded faith in Félix’s powers, “and, Félix,”
she added, “I trow ’twas the little Christ Child for thy crèche that
did it!”
Then, with a merry smile, she darted off to her father, the Count
Bernard, who was waiting for her down the church path.
For a little while after she had gone Félix did not move, but stood as
one in a dream. Elinor’s sweet words, ringing in his ears, mingled with
the glad songs the peasants were again singing on their homeward way,
till altogether he did not quite know whether he was awake or asleep,
but only felt an indistinct notion that some wonderful fairy, who had
the face of a little maid he knew, had whispered in his ear something
that was to make him happy forever.
Presently a loud bleat close at his side startled him, and looking
down, he saw that Ninette, decked in her gay garlands, and still
dragging the be-ribboned Beppo in the little cart, had broken away from
the Père Michaud and come close up to himself.
Then, with a sudden movement, he stooped over, and, seizing Beppo
in both arms, hugged and squeezed him till poor Beppo squeaked with
surprise, and opened his red mouth and gasped for breath. But Félix
only hugged him the harder, murmuring under his breath, “Bless thy
little heart, Beppo! Bless thy little heart!” For in a vague way he
realized that the truant lamb had somehow brought him his heart’s
desire, and that was quite enough Christmas happiness for one year.
And the little Lady Elinor was right, too. Years after, when Félix grew
to be a man, he did, in very truth, become a “famous carver,” as she
had declared.
Far surpassing his first master, the Père Videau, he traveled and
worked in many cities; yet never, through all his long life, did he
forget that Christmas Eve in the little village of Sur Varne.
Those who knew him best said that among his dearest treasures he always
kept a beautifully carved little box, and in it a bit of faded crimson
ribbon from the looms of Lyons. While, as for Beppo—well, if ever some
happy day you chance to visit the lovely land of Provence, perhaps you
will see a certain grand old cathedral in the ancient city of Arles;
and, if you do, look sharp at the figure of a lamb chiseled in white
stone over the great portal. Look well, I say, for Félix, when he
carved it, would have told you that he was thinking all the while of
Beppo.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.