Just as the ladies, followed by M. Lerond, were crossing the rustic bridge that spans the stream, a ragged girl of thirteen or fourteen, with hair of the same dirty white colour as her face, slipping from a copse on the opposite side of the hollow, ran up the steps and rushed into the oratory.
“There’s Honorine,” said Madame de Brécé.
“I’ve been wanting to see her for a long time,” said M. Lerond, “and I must thank you, Madame, for being the means of satisfying my curiosity. I have heard so much about her!”
“Yes, indeed,” said General Cartier de Chalmot. “The young girl in question has been subjected to many and searching inquiries.”
“M. de Goulet,” put in the Abbé, “comes regularly to the sanctuary of Notre-Dame-des-Belles-Feuilles. It is his pleasure and delight to spend long hours in adoration of her whom he calls his mother.”
“We are very fond of M. de Goulet,” said Madame de Brécé. “What a pity it is that he should be so delicate.”
“Yes, alas!” replied the Abbé. “His strength diminishes from day to day!”
“He ought to take more care of himself,” went on the Duchess, “and rest as much as possible.”
“How can he, Madame?” asked the Abbé. “The management of the diocese fills up every moment of his time.”
As the three ladies, the General, M. Guitrel, M. Lerond, and the Duke entered the chapel, they saw Honorine, as in an ecstasy, kneeling at the foot of the altar.