“But not to use it, Father, not to impart to any third person.”
“Not even to——” He checked himself.
“Not to anyone,” said Valentine firmly. “I am no longer the Duchesse de Trélan. It was necessary, I thought, that you should know I once was. Now I am Mme Vidal again.”
“Then,” said the priest very solemnly, “I implore you, as your confessor, either to write without loss of time to M. de Kersaint, telling him who you are, and asking for details about your husband which only he can give you, or, better still,” his voice shook with earnestness, “to go in person to Brittany to see him. Believe me, you will be more than thankful all your life if you do. I will give you directions afterwards. And now I will finish vesting.”
Valentine slipped to her knees, and remained sunk on the kneeling-chair while M. Chassin hastily rolled aside the pall, put out the great candles, and went into the sacristy.
Yet in a moment or two he was hurrying out and bending over the kneeling figure. “Madame, Madame, I think it must be your bell which is ringing so furiously!”
He had to repeat it again; but, when once she had understood, Mme de Trélan was in full possession of her wits.
“I will go at once, Father. It must be something unusual at this hour. But take off those vestments—leave the chapel! You must not be found here at any cost!”
Fears only for him hurried her out of the chapel and along the corridor. It was true; her bell was ringing violently, and it could not be much later than five o’clock.
She expected to find outside the door soldiers, or at least the sentry. The only being there was a rather indignant small boy, who said reproachfully that he had been ringing for five minutes, and asked if the gardener were anywhere about. The child seemed so little the herald of danger that Valentine said she thought that she could find him, and asked why he was wanted.