Chapter Seventeen.
Satisfied at last.
“I am not eager, bold,
Nor strong—all that is past:
I’m ready not to do,
At last—at last.
“My half-day’s work is done,
And this is all my part;
I give a patient God
My patient heart.
“And grasp His banner still,
Though all its blue be dim:
These stripes, no less than stars,
Lead after Him.”
“Fair Lord,” said Perrote de Carhaix, in the native tongue of both herself and the Duke, “I am your old nurse, who held you in her arms as a babe, and who taught your infant lips to speak. I taught you the Ten Commandments of God; have you forgotten them? or do you call such words as you have spoken honouring your mother? Is this the reward you pay her for her mother-love, for her thousand anxieties, for her risked life? If it be so, God pardon you as He may! But when you too reach that point which is the common lot of all humanity—when you too lie awaiting the dread summons of the inevitable angel who shall lead you either into the eternal darkness or the everlasting light, beware lest your dearest turn away from you, and act by you as you have done by her!”
The Duke’s black eyes shot forth fire. He was an exceedingly passionate man.
“Mademoiselle de Carhaix, do you know that you are my subject?”
“I am aware of it, my Lord.”
“And that I could order your head struck off in yonder court?”
“You could, if yonder court were in Bretagne. In the realm of another sovereign, I scarcely think so, under your gracious pleasure. But do you suppose I should be silent for that? When God puts His words into the lips of His messengers, they must speak them out, whatever the result may be.”
“Mademoiselle considers herself, then, an inspired prophetess?” was the contemptuous response.