"I don't believe he'll marry her, because she is poor and of no family: besides ..."
"You may well say besides, poor girl! But, come, my son, I am tired, I must go to bed."
Rumour was quite correct in giving one of the reasons for Le Mierre's departure to Jersey. He told everyone how he was bothered by the spirit of Blaisette; but he did not add that abject terror of small-pox made him decide to spend some months with well-to-do relations in Jersey, which was quite exempt from the horrible disease.
It was just before Lent when he came home to find a very bleak springtime keeping back the flowers in his garden at Orvillière. With relief, after the first night, he told his housekeeper that the spirit of Blaisette had gone, evidently for good. The woman, a devout Roman Catholic, muttered behind his back.
"She's got enough to do, praying for you in Purgatory, poor soul, if she's allowed to think of such a black heart as yours! The Blessed Angels and Saints know how it would discourage her to come back to see you as bad as ever, and it's my belief, worse!"
The tragic death of Blaisette had almost canonized her: and she, who had been in life, a pretty weak doll, was enshrined in all hearts as a martyr to her husband's brutality. So often does death enrich and enlarge our limited outlook.
It was the evening of the first Sunday in Lent. Jean Cartier, his wife, Mrs. Corbet and Perrin had been to church at Saint Pierre du Bois. It was dark as they entered the parish of Torteval, and Jean said in an anxious voice,
"I suppose Ellenor has left Les Casquets by now?"
His wife nudged him as if to say he had betrayed a secret: but it was too late. Mrs. Corbet's gentle voice asked, in great curiosity, where Ellenor was going at this time of night.
"To Les Brandons, on Pleinmont," said Jean bluntly. "We didn't like it. But as for me, I've not got the heart to refuse her nothing, since we nearly lost her with the small-pox—poor child!"