“Stuff! The fellow’s an ass!” was Father Warner’s decision. “Ha, chétife!—what has become of that little monkey, Damsel Marie? I must go and see after her.”
And he followed his colleague. Father Nicholas gathered his papers together, and from the silence that ensued, the girls gathered that the ante-chamber was deserted.
“Belasez,” said Doucebelle that night, as she was brushing her hair—the two slept in the wardrobe—“wert thou very angry with Father Bruno, this morning?”
Belasez looked up quickly.
“With him? No! I thought—”
But the thought progressed no further till Doucebelle said—“Well?”
“I thought,” said Belasez, combing out her own hair very energetically, “that I had at last found even a Christian priest who was worthy of him of whom the Bishop of Lincoln preached,—him whom you believe to be Messiah.”
“Then,” said Doucebelle, greatly delighted, “thou wilt listen to Father Bruno, if he talks to thee?”
“I would not if I could help it,” was Belasez’s equivocal answer.
“Belasez, I cannot quite understand thee. Sometimes thou seemest so different from what thou art at other times.”