The little troop arrived before the services of the church were over; and passing, as they had previously done, through the crowd, they proceeded to the house of Lucy’s companion.
Hardly had Don Abbondio alighted from his mule, when, making the most profuse compliments to the Unknown, he begged him to apologise for him to the cardinal, as he was obliged to return directly to his parish on some urgent business. He then went in search of a staff that he had left in the hall, and which he was accustomed to call his horse, and proceeded homewards. The Unknown remained at the cardinal’s house, awaiting his return from the church.
The good dame hastened to procure Lucy some refreshment to recruit her exhausted powers; she put some dry branches under a kettle which she replaced over the fire, and in which swam a good fowl; after having suffered it to boil a moment, she filled a plate with the soup, and offered it to Lucy, congratulating herself that the affair had happened on a day, when, as she said, “the cat was not on the hearth.” “It is a day of feasting for all the world,” added she, “except for those unfortunate creatures who can hardly obtain bread of vetches, and a polenta of millet; they hope, however, to receive something from our charitable cardinal. As for us, thank heaven, we are not in that situation; between the trade of my husband and a small piece of land, we manage to live comfortably. Eat, then, poor child, with a good appetite; the fowl will be done presently, and you shall have something better.” She then set about making preparations for dinner for the family.
As Lucy’s spirits and strength returned, the necessity of arranging her dress occurred to her mind; she therefore tied up her long disordered tresses, and adjusted the handkerchief about her neck; in doing this, her fingers entwined themselves in the chaplet, which was there suspended: she gazed at it with much emotion, and the recollection of the vow she had made, this recollection which had been suspended by so many painful sensations, now rose clearly and distinctly to her mind. All the newly-awakened powers of her soul were again in a moment subdued. And if she had not been prepared for this by a life of innocence, resignation, and confidence, the consternation she experienced would have terminated in despair. After the first tumult of her thoughts had in some measure subsided, she exclaimed, “Oh! unhappy girl! what have I done!”
But hardly had she pronounced the words, when she was terrified at having done so; she recalled all the circumstances of her vow, her intolerable anguish, without hope of human aid, the fervour of her petition, the fulness of resolution with which the promise had been made; and to repent of this promise, after having obtained the favour she had implored, appeared to her sacrilegious ingratitude, perfidy towards God and the Virgin. It seemed to her that such infidelity would certainly draw upon her new and more terrible evils, and if these should indeed be its consequences she could no longer hope for an answer to her prayers; she therefore hastened to abjure her momentary regret, and drawing the chaplet reverently from her neck, and holding it in her trembling hand, she confirmed her vow; at the same time fervently praying to God that he would grant her strength to fulfil it, and to drive from her thoughts circumstances which might, if they did not move her resolution, still increase but too much the severity of the sacrifice. The absence of Renzo, without any probability of his return, which had at first been so bitter, appeared now to her a design of Providence, to make the two events conduce to the same end, and she endeavoured to find in one a consolation for the other. She also remembered that Providence would, to finish the work, find means to make Renzo resigned, and cause him to forget—— But scarcely had this idea entered her mind, when a new terror overwhelmed her. Conscious that her heart had still need of repentance, the unfortunate girl again had recourse to prayer, and mental conflict; and at length arose, if the expression may be allowed, like a victor wearied and wounded, having disarmed his enemy.
Suddenly footsteps and joyous exclamations were heard; they proceeded from the children of the family, who were returning from church. Two little girls and a little boy ran into the room; stopping a moment to eye the stranger, they then came to their mother, one asking the name of their unknown guest, another wanting to relate the wonders they had seen. The good dame replied to them all with “Be quiet; silence!” The master of the house then entered with a calmer step; but with joy diffused over his countenance. He was the tailor of the village and its environs; a man who knew how to read, and who had even read, more than once, the Legend of the Saints and the Reali di Francia; he was regarded by the peasants as a man of knowledge, and when they lavished their praises on him, he repelled them with much modesty, only saying that he had indeed mistaken his vocation, and that, perhaps, if he had studied—— Notwithstanding this little vanity he was the best natured man in the world. He had been present when the curate requested his wife to undertake her benevolent journey, and had not only given his approbation, but would have added his own persuasions, if that had been necessary; and now that the ceremonies of the church, and above all, the sermon of the cardinal, had given an impetus to his amiable feelings, he returned home with an ardent desire to know if the enterprise had succeeded, and to see the poor innocent girl in safety.
“See here!” said his wife to him as he entered, pointing to Lucy, who rose from her seat blushing, and stammering forth some apology. He advanced towards her, and, with a friendly tone, cried, “You are welcome! welcome! You bring the blessing of Heaven on this house! How glad I am to see you here! I knew that you would arrive safely to a haven, because I have never known the Lord commence a miracle without accomplishing it; but I am well content to see you here. Poor child! It is a great thing however to have been the subject of a miracle!”
We must not believe he was the only one who characterised the event by this term, and that because he had read the legendary. Throughout the village, and the surrounding country, it was spoken of in no other terms, as long as its remembrance lasted; and to say truth, if we regard its attendant circumstances, it would be difficult to find another name for it.
He then approached his wife, who was employed in taking the kettle from off the fire, and said in a low voice, “Has all gone well?”
“Very well. I will tell you another time.”