"Bid Monsieur de Crillon wait for me when he arrives," said she. "I shall want his help more than ever. In the meanwhile I will go and inform the curé that his services will not be required at present. I will then see my daughter, and take her home."
The little dwelling of Père Hypolite was at no great distance from the convent, and the baroness soon reached the small but exquisite garden, in which she found the priest busily engaged in planting out his choice flowers for the summer. A little later in the year and those flowers would outshine even the gay and splendid costume in which the baroness had hastily quitted the Chateau de Beaujardin. The unwonted appearance of a lady in such brilliant attire at once attracted the attention of Père Hypolite, who bowed respectfully as she approached him.
"You are Father Hypolite, the curé of St. Sulpice—is it not so?" said she. The old man bowed assent. "I have come to tell you that the marriage you were to have solemnised cannot take place to-day."
Père Hypolite looked somewhat surprised.
"The marriage!" said he. "I do not quite understand your ladyship."
"I mean the marriage of Mademoiselle Lacroix and a gentleman of rank who was to come here for the purpose," rejoined the lady. "The Lady Superior told me that you had been directed to hold yourself in readiness to perform the rite."
"The marriage of Mademoiselle Lacroix!" replied the priest, apparently amazed. "There must be some mistake. I did receive the directions of the Lady Superior, and the marriage took place this morning."
"This morning! Are you mad?" retorted the baroness. "What marriage?"
"The marriage of Mademoiselle Lacroix with the young Marquis de Beaujardin, who came here to St. Sulpice for the purpose."
"Fool! idiot! do you know what you are saying? There has been no marriage at the convent to-day. Are you mad?"