There was even a thrill of ecstasy in the delirium of that thought—a spark of new life struck out of a dead delusion. He could answer to a provocation, after all—for her!
But later, when he had fallen into a deep sleep, she rose softly from beside him, and crept to her oratory, and, kneeling on the icy stones before the statue of the Holy Virgin, broke into prayer, and a passion of tears,—
“O, Mother! show me how to love, and yet be clean!”
CHAPTER III
On a flat open width of the Argentière road, a mile or so to the north-east of Le Prieuré, a little company of astronomers was gathered to gaze at the moon. They carried glasses and instruments; there was not the least air of privacy about their proceedings; the spot selected was open to all. There was an extension in the long tear of the valley in this place, the increased interval between the mountains being occupied by a humpish land strewn with boulders.
About eight o’clock of a September evening, this group of enthusiasts—drinking in lunar obfuscation; its telescopes, like so many glasses brimming with moonshine, tilted to its eyes—was joined by a single individual, whose approach from Le Prieuré, it seemed, had occurred unnoticed by it in its preoccupation. Nor did his arrival affect it now, further than to its tacit acceptance of his company as of that of a recognised kindred spirit.
The newcomer, taking a short tube from his pocket, applied the smaller lens to his eye, and joined in the general scrutiny of that placid orb, which floated over the mountain tops in a liquid mist. Gradually, and scarce perceptibly as he gazed, the others edged about him, until all were within a common focus of hearing. Then one, who appeared to have some precedence of authority, opened his lips, but without removing his instrument from his eye.
“The oracle, great Spartacus—hath it worked?”
“It is working, Ajax.”
“And Paris shall be deposed?”