All Félicie’s dreams were carried out. The bishop officiated at high-mass, the white church was crowded with worshippers—M. Georges among the number—and the procession which conducted him afterwards to the little hospital which was to be opened for the very old people of the neighbourhood was thick with banners, and did credit to her training. Only one terrible disappointment came to her—the bishop, although he did not say much, managing to express his dislike to her paper flowers, and the gewgaws which decked the altar. She could scarcely keep back her tears, for there was no mistaking the few words he uttered, and to her own thinking the effect had been unequalled.
Setting this aside, however, all had gone admirably; there was nothing, she felt sure, in which even Mme. Lemballe could pick a hole. And when they were all back at the château again, she was feverishly anxious for her reward in the shape of a private interview with, and a special blessing from, the bishop, together with instructions as to how the money for the next pilgrimage should be raised. But Claire, who was moodily wandering from room to room, gave her unwelcome intelligence.
“Monseigneur is in the grounds talking to Nathalie, and his carriage is ordered in half an hour.”
“To Nathalie! How has Nathalie got hold of him? What has she to do with him!”
“As much as any of us, I suppose. And it is he who has got hold of her, for he asked to speak to her.”
“Oh!” cried Félicie discomfited. The next moment she exclaimed: “I should not wonder in the least if he has heard of the books she reads. I shall be obliged to see him about the pilgrimage, and I dare say he will tell me.”
Her sister looked at her in displeasure.
“For pity’s sake, do not talk any more about those trifles! Do you never think of what is hanging over us?”
Félicie took refuge in tears.
“How unkind you are, Claire! Of course I think of it a great deal in my prayers. But I believe his Grandeur’s visit will bring a blessing, and this morning Léon seems quite himself again.”