which she had not satisfied my mind, as I have before said. She wasthe mother of Jacques Richard, who was a good-for-nothing, as is wellknown. At La Clairiere Mere Julie had enacted a strange part. She hadtaken no part in anything that was done, but had established herself inthe chamber allotted to her, and taken the best bed in it, where shekept her place night and day, making the others wait upon her. She hadalways expressed a great devotion for St. Jean; and the Sisters of theHospital had been very kind to her, and also to her _vaurien_ of a son,who was indeed, in some manner, the occasion of all our troubles--beingthe first who complained of the opening of the chapel into the chiefward, which was closed up by the administration, and thus became, as Iand many others think, the cause of all the calamities that have comeupon us. It was her bed that was the centre of the great commotion wehad heard, and a dozen voices immediately began to explain to us as weentered. 'Mere Julie has had a dream. She has seen a vision,' they said.It was a vision of angels in the most beautiful robes, all shining withgold and whiteness.
'The dress of the Holy Mother which she wears on the great _fetes_ wasnothing to them,' Mere Julie told us, when she had composed herself. Forall had run here and there at her first cry, and procured for her a_tisane_, and a cup of _bouillon_, and all that was good for an attackof the nerves, which was what it was at first supposed to be. 'Theirwings were like the wings of the great peacock on the terrace, but alsolike those of eagles. And each one had a collar of beautiful jewelsabout his neck, and robes whiter than those of any bride.' This was thedescription she gave: and to see the women how they listened, head abovehead, a cloud of eager faces, all full of awe and attention! The angelshad promised her that they would come again, when we had bound ourselvesto observe all the functions of the Church, and when all theseMessieurs had been converted, and made their submission--to lead us backgloriously to Semur. There was a great tumult in the chamber, and allcried out that they were convinced, that they were ready to promise. Allexcept Madame Martin, who stood and looked at them with a look whichsurprised me, which was of pity rather than sympathy. As there was noone else to speak, I took the word, being the mother of the presentMaire, and wife of the last, and in part mistress of the house. HadAgnes spoken I would have yielded to her, but as she was silent I tookmy right. 'Mere Julie,' I said, 'and mes bonnes femmes, my friends, knowyou that it is the middle of the night, the hour at which we must restif we are to be able to do the work that is needful, which the _bonDieu_ has laid upon us? It is not from us--my daughter and myself--who,it is well known, have followed all the functions of the Church, thatyou will meet with an opposition to your promise. But what I desire isthat you should calm yourselves, that you should retire and rest tillthe time of work, husbanding your strength, since we know not what claimmay be made upon it. The holy angels,' I said, 'will comprehend, or ifnot they, then the _bon Dieu_, who understands everything.'
But it was with difficulty that I could induce them to listen to me, todo that which was reasonable. When, however, we had quieted theagitation, and persuaded the good women to repose themselves, it was nolonger possible for me to rest. I promised to myself a little moment ofquiet, for my heart longed to be alone. I stole out as quietly as Imight, not to disturb any one, and sat down upon the bench outside thedoor. It was still a kind of half-dark, nothing visible, so that if anyone should gaze and gaze down the valley, it was not possible to seewhat was there: and I was glad that it was not possible, for my verysoul was tired. I sat down and leant my back upon the wall of ourhouse, and opened my lips to draw in the air of the morning. How stillit was! the very birds not yet begun to rustle and stir in the bushes;the night air hushed, and scarcely the first faint tint of bluebeginning to steal into the darkness. When I had sat there a little,closing my eyes, lo, tears began to steal into them like rain when therehas been a fever of heat. I have wept in my time many tears, but thetime of weeping is over with me, and through all these miseries I hadshed none. Now they came without asking, like a benediction refreshingmy eyes. Just then I felt a soft pressure upon my shoulder, and therewas Agnes coming close, putting her shoulder to mine, as was her way,that we might support each other.
'You weep, ma mere,' she said.
'I think it is one of the angels Mere Julie has seen,' said I. 'It is arefreshment--a blessing; my eyes were dry with weariness.'
'Mother,' said Madame Martin, 'do you think it is angels with wingslike peacocks and jewelled collars that our Father sends to us? Ah, notso--one of those whom we love has touched your dear eyes,' and with thatshe kissed me upon my eyes, taking me in her arms. My heart is sometimeshard to my son's wife, but not always--not with my will, God knows! Herkiss was soft as the touch of any angel could be.
'God bless thee, my child,' I said.
'Thanks, thanks, ma mere!' she cried. 'Now I am resolved; now will I goand speak to Martin--of something in my heart.'
'What will you do, my child?' I said, for as the light increased I couldsee the meaning in her face, and that it was wrought up for some greatthing. 'Beware, Agnes; risk not my son's happiness by risking thyself;thou art more to Martin than all the world beside.'
'He loves thee dearly, mother,' she said. My heart was comforted. I wasable to remember that I too had had my day. 'He loves his mother, thankGod, but not as he loves thee. Beware, _ma fille_. If you risk my son'shappiness, neither will I forgive you.' She smiled upon me, and kissedmy hands.
'I will go and take him his food and some linen, and carry him your loveand mine.'
'_You_ will go, and carry one of those heavy baskets with the others!'
'Mother,' cried Agnes, 'now you shame me that I have never done itbefore.'
What could I say? Those whose turn it was were preparing their burdensto set out. She had her little packet made up, besides, of our coolwhite linen, which I knew would be so grateful to my son. I went withher to the turn of the road, helping her with her basket; but my limbstrembled, what with the long continuance of the trial, what with theagitation of the night. It was but just daylight when they went away,disappearing down the long slope of the road that led to Semur. I wentback to the bench at the door, and there I sat down and thought.Assuredly it was wrong to close up the chapel, to deprive the sick ofthe benefit of the holy mass. But yet I could not but reflect that the_bon Dieu_ had suffered still more great scandals to take place withoutsuch a punishment. When, however, I reflected on all that has been doneby those who have no cares of this world as we have, but are brides ofChrist, and upon all they resign by their dedication, and the claim theyhave to be furthered, not hindered, in their holy work: and when Ibethought myself how many and great are the powers of evil, and that,save in us poor women who can do so little, the Church has few friends:then it came back to me how heinous was the offence that had beencommitted, and that it might well be that the saints out of heavenshould return to earth to take the part and avenge the cause of theweak. My husband would have been the first to do it, had he seen withmy eyes; but though in the flesh he did not do so, is it to be doubtedthat in heaven their eyes are enlightened--those who have been subjectedto the cleansing fires and have ascended into final bliss? This allbecame clear to me as I sat and pondered, while the morning light grewaround me, and the sun rose and shed his first rays, which are asprecious gold, on the summits of the mountains--for at La Clairiere weare nearer the mountains than at Semur.
The house was more still than usual, and all slept to a later hourbecause of the agitation of the past night. I had been seated, like oldsister Mariette, with my eyes turned rather towards the hills than tothe valley, being so deep in my thoughts that I did not look, as it wasour constant wont to look, if any change had happened over Semur. Thusblessings come unawares when we are not looking for them. Suddenly Ilifted my eyes--but not with expectation--languidly, as one lookswithout thought. Then it was that I gave that great cry which broughtall crowding to the windows, to the gardens, to every spot from whencethat blessed sight was visible; for there before us, piercing throughthe clouds, were the beau
tiful towers of Semur, the Cathedral with allits pinnacles, that are as if they were carved out of foam, and thesolid tower of St. Lambert, and the others, every one. They told meafter that I flew, though I am past running, to the farmyard to call allthe labourers and servants of the farm, bidding them prepare everycarriage and waggon, and even the _charrettes_, to carry back thechildren, and those who could not walk to the city.
'The men will be wild with privation and trouble,' I said to myself;'they will want the sight of their little children, the comfort of theirwives.'
I did not wait to reason nor to ask myself if I did well; and my son hastold me since that he scarcely was more thankful for our greatdeliverance than, just when the crowd of gaunt and weary men returnedinto Semur, and