An Episode Under the Terror | Page 7

the door, taking silence for consent, presented himself, and

the women shuddered. This was the prowler that had been making
inquiries about them for some time past. But they looked at him with
frightened curiosity, much as shy children stare silently at a stranger;
and neither of them moved.
The newcomer was a tall, burly man. Nothing in his behavior, bearing,
or expression suggested malignity as, following the example set by the
nuns, he stood motionless, while his eyes traveled round the room.
Two straw mats laid upon planks did duty as beds. On the one table,
placed in the middle of the room, stood a brass candlestick, several
plates, three knives, and a round loaf. A small fire burned in the grate.
A few bits of wood in a heap in a corner bore further witness to the
poverty of the recluses. You had only to look at the coating of paint on
the walls to discover the bad condition of the roof, and the ceiling was
a perfect network of brown stains made by rain-water. A relic, saved no
doubt from the wreck of the Abbaye de Chelles, stood like an ornament
on the chimney-piece. Three chairs, two boxes, and a rickety chest of
drawers completed the list of the furniture, but a door beside the
fireplace suggested an inner room beyond.
The brief inventory was soon made by the personage introduced into
their midst under such terrible auspices. It was with a compassionate
expression that he turned to the two women; he looked benevolently at
them, and seemed, at least, as much embarrassed as they. But the
strange silence did not last long, for presently the stranger began to
understand. He saw how inexperienced, how helpless (mentally
speaking), the two poor creatures were, and he tried to speak gently.
"I am far from coming as an enemy, citoyennes----" he began. Then he
suddenly broke off and went on, "Sisters, if anything should happen to
you, believe me, I shall have no share in it. I have come to ask a favor
of you."
Still the women were silent.
"If I am annoying you--if--if I am intruding, speak freely, and I will go;
but you must understand that I am entirely at your service; that if I can
do anything for you, you need not fear to make use of me. I, and I only,
perhaps, am above the law, since there is no King now."
There was such a ring of sincerity in the words that Sister Agathe
hastily pointed to a chair as if to bid their guest be seated. Sister Agathe
came of the house of Langeais; her manner seemed to indicate that

once she had been familiar with brilliant scenes, and had breathed the
air of courts. The stranger seemed half pleased, half distressed when he
understood her invitation; he waited to sit down until the women were
seated.
"You are giving shelter to a reverend father who refused to take the
oath, and escaped the massacres at the Carmelites by a miracle----"
"HOSANNA!" Sister Agathe exclaimed eagerly, interrupting the
stranger, while she watched him with curious eyes.
"That is not the name, I think," he said.
"But, monsieur," Sister Marthe broke in quickly, "we have no priest
here, and----"
"In that case you should be more careful and on your guard," he
answered gently, stretching out his hand for a breviary that lay on the
table. "I do not think that you know Latin, and----"
He stopped; for, at the sight of the great emotion in the faces of the two
poor nuns, he was afraid that he had gone too far. They were trembling,
and the tears stood in their eyes.
"Do not fear," he said frankly. "I know your names and the name of
your guest. Three days ago I heard of your distress and devotion to the
venerable Abbe de----"
"Hush!" Sister Agathe cried, in the simplicity of her heart, as she laid
her finger on her lips.
"You see, Sisters, that if I had conceived the horrible idea of betraying
you, I could have given you up already, more than once----"
At the words the priest came out of his hiding-place and stood in their
midst.
"I cannot believe, monsieur, that you can be one of our persecutors," he
said, addressing the stranger, "and I trust you. What do you want with
me?"
The priest's holy confidence, the nobleness expressed in every line in
his face, would have disarmed a murderer. For a moment the
mysterious stranger, who had brought an element of excitement into
lives of misery and resignation, gazed at the little group; then he turned
to the priest and said, as if making a confidence, "Father, I came to beg
you to celebrate a mass for the repose