Anne continued as though she were not aware of the interruption. She knew that at this moment her words were eagerly listened to.
“Indeed, our saint accumulates merits against the day of judgment; those who are wise would strive to share a small portion of them. From her earliest years she began the study of perfection; every virtue was seen and admired in her. It is the country of saints, this. Behold the head of the martyred Frenchman, which amazed the Iroquois who had cut it off by scolding them roundly for their perfidy, and threatening them with the vengeance of Heaven. Think, also, of the handkerchief of the late Père la Maître (may his soul rest in Paradise!) stamped indelibly, as on a piece of wax, with the features of its former owner. The heathen Iroquois have ever since been seen using it as a banner in battle. Should the country be saved, our deliverance will be due to the prayers of our sainted one, who has sacrificed herself as an expiatory offering for Canada.”
“Might I commend myself to the good prayers of our reverend demoiselle, and particularly to the sacrifice of the Mass for my intention,” urged Jean Ameron, with eager subserviency. “And are you quite persuaded, Mam’selle Anne, that our saint’s credit with the powers of heaven will be sufficient to protect Canada from those sorcerers of English?”
Nanon glared at her adorer, who had so readily gone over to the enemy, but in his fright his mistress’ ire had no terror for Jean. Anne hastened to reassure him.
“Certainly. Have not the gentlemen of the Seminary and the blessed Sisters of the Congregation of Notre Dame given ready testimony to her perfection? Can you doubt the power of the saints, given them by the blessed Virgin herself?”
“Assuredly not, nor should I dare to presume. Without doubt it is a convenience to find one’s self near a holy saint, if she will but remember the needs of the poor sinners, and exert her credit with all the heavenly host on our account. Could our sainted demoiselle be persuaded but to write me a little word that I might wear with my scapulary to preserve me from evil fortune? Voilà, Mam’selle Anne, if you would have the goodness to remark the fact, like the demoiselle Le Ber herself I have denied myself the happiness of matrimony in order to merit the favor of Heaven.”
“Ta, ta! there are saints and saints, my son, and thou wouldst place thyself among them. Wilt thou then dare to compare thyself to that spotless creature, reverenced by all the world for her holiness, who is an expiatory offering for the sins of her country, and not a refuge for cowardly lackeys? Out of my presence! It is that unruly ostrich Nanon who has inspired thee with the thought of such impertinence!” cried Anne with growing fury.
“Mam’selle Anne has always reason. Yet doubtless you will allow that my bones are precious to me, and that it is a duty to take thought for one’s self,” whimpered Jean.
When Jeanne Le Ber’s prayer disappeared, stolen from the edifice to which it had been attached, to the consternation of the good Sisters who had trusted implicitly in its efficacy, no one suspected the immense solace which Jean derived from having it tucked comfortably away under his scapulary.