“I have alarmed you; I have acted foolishly; but God knows it was involuntary; I did not intend to wound your feelings; forgive me, dear Lady Genevra, forgive me; good night.” He extended his small, thin hand for mine; with my head averted, I placed mine within his. He shook it gently, and when I looked up he was gone. Oh, how fervently I wished I had a right ever to retain that hand, ever to lean on that arm, and gaze into those star-lit eyes; to feel that some one human being on earth cared for me, was true to me, would not desert me or disdain my love. Oh, how I wished for that faithful heart. And then to think I had found it, but under such circumstances that it was guilt itself to think of it! Had I not better determine never to see him again, to deny myself the siren-like attraction which was drawing me I know not where? Ought I not to think of my husband, to mourn his loss, regret his destiny? Yet he had himself bade me forget him, abandon all allegiance to him, be happy without him. What was to become of me? whither should I turn for consolation? Monsieur Belmont had gone to Paris, to direct the opera there; Madame Bonni had left the city; sweet Blanche was dead, and Inez far away. Oppressed with these thoughts, I sank into a reverie, when my child stirred, and turning, I took him in my arms.
CHAPTER XII.
In my loneliness I reminded me of the words of the superior of the convent of Sacre Cœur, and resolved to visit her. The same nun admitted me, and I again found myself in the little convent parlor.
Presently I heard the rustling silk dress, and the superior stood before me. Her features bore the same calm expression of severity; her manner the same impressive solemnity. She immediately recognised me, and pressing my hand, almost cordially said,
“Well, daughter, I see you again; you have remembered me; and how fares the world with thee? has not its hollow-heartednesss already tired you?”
“I feel tired of it sometimes, mother, and remembering the invitation to visit you, which you gave me two years age, I have come.”
“You have done rightly, daughter: I am glad to see you. I think you told me you were a catholic; I hope you still remain faithful to our blessed faith?”
“It has often been a consolation to me in much trouble.”
I was about to enter into more general conversation, when other visitors came, and I took leave, the Superior cordially bidding me adieu, and inviting me to come to mass in the chapelle of the Sisters.