That gentle voice! The soft, caressing touch!
Ah! le bon Dieu!
It was Sister Agnes, truly!
The religieuse, ever struggling against the desires of the flesh, had unconsciously kneeled side by side with the youthful suppliant. Disturbed by the sobs of the latter, she had addressed her sympathetically.
To poor little ignorant and believing Fouchette it was as if one of the beautiful painted angels had suddenly assumed life and, leaving the vaulted ceiling, had come floating down to softly brush her with her protecting wings. Awe-stricken at what seemed a direct manifestation of God, she found no words to express either surprise or joy. She simply toppled over into the arms of the astonished religieuse and lost consciousness. The reaction was too great.
Sister Agnes, who had not recognized in the girl dressed as a bonne-à-toute-faire her protégée of Le Bon Pasteur, was naturally somewhat startled at this unexpected demonstration, and called aloud for the sacristan.
"Blessed be God!" she exclaimed, when they had carried the girl into the light of the vestry,—"it is Mademoiselle Fouchette!"
"What's she doing here?" demanded the man, with a mixture of suspicion and indignation.
"Certainly nothing bad, monsieur. No, it can be nothing bad which leads a young girl to prostrate herself at this hour before the altar of the blessed Ste. Geneviève!"
"Ste. Geneviève! That girl? That—— Mère de Dieu! what next?"