"Ou ay, Mrs. Celia," answered Patient, dropping into Scotch, as was usual with her when deeply stirred,—"ou ay, I mind that word. But it was the gathering I wanted, Madam—it was the gathering!"
Back in Paris, and once more attired in full court costume, Celia somewhat sadly joined her step-mother. This visit to the Tuileries was even more distasteful to her than that she had paid at St. Germains. The idea of kneeling to kiss the hand of the man who had ordered the Dragonnades, came, she thought, very near the border of absolute wrong; at the same time, she did not feel so certain of the wrong as to make her resist Lady Ingram's order. Her position was exceedingly disagreeable, since, while she could not be sure that she was doing wrong, she felt very doubtful whether she was doing right. Philip tried to rally her upon her sorrowful face, but his banter fell flat, and he looked puzzled and compassionate.
"I am ready, my dear," said Lady Ingram as she came in. "But what a face! Do you think that I am taking you to see an execution?"
"Madam," said Celia, summoning all her courage, "I wish your Ladyship would allow me to remain at home."
"Is this wicked, my votaress?" asked Lady Ingram, with the scornful smile which by this time her step-daughter knew so well.
"I cannot say that, Madam; but I am not quite sure that it is right. Does your Ladyship wish me particularly to accompany you?"
"Of course I do, my clear. 'Tis an opportunity which it would be a sin to lose. You consider it a venial sin, I suppose. Well, you can say another prayer or two."
"I know nothing about venial sins, Madam. Sin is sin to me; but as I am not sure that this is a sin, if your Ladyship absolutely commands me, I will go: at the same time, I would much rather remain."
"Ah! I know what that means, my réligieuse," said Lady Ingram, laughing; "you want an excuse for your conscience. Very well, then, I command you. The coach is here. Come!"
Celia followed slowly. Lady Ingram had entirely misunderstood her—in all probability was incapable of understanding her. Any further explanation, she felt, would merely plunge her deeper into the mire; so she sat grave and silent until the carriage drew up on one side of the Place du Carrousel. Lady Ingram gave her hand as usual to Philip, and Celia followed them in silence. After the customary passage through suites of rooms, they paused at a door; and on giving a gentle tap, a gentleman in black came out and bowed low before them.