“I try not to,” answered the priest.
At the sound of his voice, with the tiny but perceptible shake in it, Louis looked up, and, seeing how pale the speaker had become, threw himself impetuously on his knees beside him and seized his hand. “For God’s sake, don’t! . . . Think rather of the difficulties and delays he may have encountered on his way back. Why, he may easily have written and the letter have miscarried. He might walk in unannounced at any minute!”
It was true, and yet Gilbert did not come. And soon a fresh anxiety mingled with their fears for him. On the very day of the relief of Bressuire the National Assembly had confirmed, with aggravations, the proposed decree of May 27th sentencing all non-juring priests to deportation. By the second week in September there were a hundred and fifty awaiting embarkation at Les Sables. It seemed inconceivable that Chantemerle should continue longer to be unswept by the devastation. So indeed thought M. des Graves, and in the quietude of his retreat—for it was now impossible for him to stir outside the gardens—he made ready for exile. But Louis showed an incurable optimism, mingled with what the priest rather feared was a disposition to appeal to force.
“They shall not take you out of this house while I am alive, and here to prevent it,” he announced one morning, when they had been discussing the situation.
The Curé shook his head, smiling a little sadly. “If they come for me, I must go; if they even suspect that I am here, I must go. Otherwise they will take you as well. You know that they have put several gentlemen under surveillance for concealing priests.”
“I know of one,” returned Louis, unmoved; “Guerry de la Vergne. But that was at Challans, a much more patriotic place.”
“Dear lad,” said the priest, “we must look facts in the face. Look around you at all these parishes—Cezais, La Jaudonnière, Chantonnay itself. Look where you will, their priests are gone. I will stay here till the last moment, for it is my duty, but when the hour comes, I must rise up and go wherever God pleases to send me. And if they come for me, I charge you, Louis, to give me up at once.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind,” answered the young man resolutely. “There are nooks in this old place where no National Guard, however prying, would ever think of looking. I don’t suppose any one but Gilbert and myself knows of them; we found them when we were boys. And, parbleu,” he added, with a sudden smile, “since we are becoming so vastly prudent, why do you not go and get your passport at once? You know what you are risking by not doing so—either Guiana or ten years of prison.”
“Because it is God’s will that I stay by my people as long as it is humanly possible,” said M. des Graves steadily.
“Very well,” returned the Vicomte; “and it is equally in the designs of the Almighty that I do my utmost to prevent your being removed therefrom. But, mind you, no more excursions to the village! If you want to send your benediction to your parishioners I’ll take it to them; if they want ghostly counsel they must come to you here. . . .”