The Awakening of a Soul.
The famous trial was at an end, and talk rapidly subsiding. After Mme. Lemaire’s evidence it was felt that the prosecution fell to the ground, and the jury brought in an acquittal at once. When Léon and Nathalie met they could not speak. The woman in both was uppermost but voiceless until they found themselves alone. He was aged, and there were lines in his face which would never leave it, for although his nature was not deep enough to suffer deeply, its easy lightness had offered no sort of resistance when shaken by despair. Yet it seemed as if something had come to him—perhaps the soul, which was wanting before, or lay undeveloped, waiting for the touch of a great love. Love and suffering. Their union is divine, and divine their mission and their strength.
A warrant was issued for the arrest of Charles Lemaire on the charge of perjury, but he had taken advantage of the warning which at last reached him from his wife to escape—it is believed—to America. For a long time after that testimony to which her conscience forced her she was very ill. She recovered at last, and found consolation in her Orphanage. She would never see Nathalie again, but once Raoul was taken to the Home, and stared amazedly at rows of little white beds, and at a lady in black who looked at him and cried.
Perhaps of the actors in the little drama, M. Bourget, who seemed the most square and solid figure of all, showed the roost change, or shared that feature beyond the others with Mme. de Beaudrillart. He had gone through a collapse. Hopes, opinions, ambitions, affections had tumbled down together in one vast ruin, and although he managed to build some of them up again, the feeling of insecurity which follows an earthquake could not be easily got rid of. Until then he had scarcely believed that there was any possible contingency in which money would not carry the day. Certain it is that he bullies less, and on more than one occasion has been known to abstain from laying down the law. Leroux has never been forgiven, but the person for whom he displays the most sincere respect, and to whose opinions he attaches a quite disproportionate value is M. Georges. Meanwhile, although he has once declined the honour, it is pretty certain that he will be chosen for the next mayor.
As for M. Georges himself, it is the incredible which comes to pass, and his wife—to his own utter amazement—is no other than a Demoiselle De Beaudrillart. Had Mme. de Beaudrillart been herself, it could never have happened, but the poor woman was struck down and shattered by the storm which had shaken the very foundations of Poissy, and all her old landmarks were swept away. And M. Georges had been such a stay, such a support in the hour of trouble! Everybody turned to him. His unfailing helpfulness, his good sense, his courageous loyalty attracted them to the little man. Poor Claire! She had been attracted first of all, and it was hard that having stood up for him when others blamed, she should be obliged to look on and see Félicie chosen. As for Léon, what could he say? It shocked him; but had he not been the cause of what might have proved a really overwhelming disgrace? After all was said and done, the fact remained that he had taken the notes, and there were people who would throw it up at him when they heard his name all his life long. And Nathalie was on M. Georges’s side.
“Dear, if you married me, why should not Félicie marry Monsieur Georges?”
It was one of those differences which seem infinite to the person who has to decide, but which cannot be explained to the world. As for Félicie herself, bliss smiled in her face. M. Georges had behaved admirably. After welcoming M. and Mme. Léon, he had sought an interview with Léon, laid himself and his small prospects most humbly at Mlle. Félicie’s feet, and taken himself off at once to Tours. Léon had gone so far as to argue with his sister, and to ask her whether she had fully considered what the change in position meant.
“Oh, it will be delightful!” exclaimed Félicie. “We shall be within reach of Nantes, and every summer we shall take sea-baths, and see something of the world.”
“Of the world!” repeated Léon, petrified. “I thought you dreaded it!”
“As a girl, yes; but with my husband what should I dread?” said Félicie, calmly. “Here it is certainly not gay, and lately, I can assure you, Léon, with poor mamma so crushed, and Claire walking about with a face of stone, and you in prison, if it had not been for Michel I don’t know what one would have done! Is it not delightful that he should have such a beautiful name? Saint Michel’s has always been a special day for me, and I had all the new embroideries ready for it.”