“Oh! mamma, mamma!” murmured Jeanne, listening, wonderstruck.
“Well,” said Hélène, with a smile, “since you cannot come to us, my old friend, we will go to see you. Why, you’ve quite turned Jeanne’s head with your talk about flowers.”
She had few religious tendencies; she never even went to mass, on the plea that her daughter’s health suffered from the shivering fits which seized her when she came out of a church. In her presence the old priest avoided all reference to religion. It was his wont to say, with good-natured indulgence, that good hearts carve out their own salvation by deeds of loving kindness and charity. God would know when and how to touch her.
Till the evening of the following day Jeanne thought of nothing but the month of Mary. She plagued her mother with questions; she dreamt of the church adorned with a profusion of white roses, filled with thousands of wax tapers, with the sound of angels’ voices, and sweet perfumes. And she was very anxious to go near the altar, that she might have a good look at the Blessed Virgin’s lace gown, a gown worth a fortune, according to the Abbé. But Hélène bridled her excitement with a threat not to take her should she make herself ill beforehand.
However, the evening came at last, and they set out. The nights were still cold, and when they reached the Rue de l’Annonciation, where the church of Notre-Dame-de-Grace stands, the child was shivering all over.
“The church is heated,” said her mother. “We must secure a place near a hot-air pipe.”
She pushed open the padded door, and as it gently swung back to its place they found themselves in a warm atmosphere, with brilliant lights streaming on them, and chanting resounding in their ears. The ceremony had commenced, and Hélène, perceiving that the nave was crowded, signified her intention of going down one of the aisles. But there seemed insuperable obstacles in her way; she could not get near the altar. Holding Jeanne by the hand, she for a time patiently pressed forward, but at last, despairing of advancing any farther, took the first unoccupied chairs she could find. A pillar hid half of the choir from view.
“I can see nothing,” said the child, grievously discontented. “This is a very nasty place.”
However, Hélène signed to her to keep silent, and she lapsed into a fit of sulks. In front of her she could only perceive the broad back of a fat old lady. When her mother next turned towards her she was standing upright on her chair.
“Will you come down!” said Hélène in a low voice. “You are a nuisance.”