"By force!" murmured De Brecy; and then from a feeling difficult to define, he added, "thank God for that!"
"For what?" said Lomelini. "Doubtless she went willingly enough. Women will scream and declare they are made miserable for life, and all that. At all events, she stayed when she was there, and that was her daughter; for I knew the child again as soon as I saw it at the cottage, by a mark upon her temple; and the old father died of grief, and the mad husband stole in one night and stabbed his wife, and carried away the child; and that is all."
He seemed to ramble, and a slight convulsion passed over his face. "I know the whole," he added, "for I had a share in the whole," and a deep groan followed.
"Let me call in a priest," said De Brecy. "You have need of the consolations of the Church."
"Ay, ay; call in a priest," answered Lomelini, partly raising himself on his arm. "I would not have my corpse kicked about the streets like the carcass of a dog; but do not suppose I believe in any priestly tales, young man. When life goes out, all is ended. I have enjoyed this life. I want no other; I expect no other--I--I fear no other--surely there is no other. Well, call in a priest--haste, or you will be too late--is this faintness--is this death?"
Jean Charost sprang to the door, near which he found several of the monks. The penitentiary was called for in haste. But he was, as Lomelini had said, too late. They found the abbot passed away, the chin had dropped, the wide open eyes seemed to gaze at nothing, and yet to have nothing within them. Something had departed which man vainly tries to define by words, or to convey by figures. A spirit had gone to learn the emptiness of the dreams of earth.
With a slow step, and deep gloom upon his mind, Jean Charost turned back to his dwelling. As he went, his thoughts were much occupied with the dark, sad, material doctrines--philosophy I can not call them--creed I can not call them--which at that time were but too common among Italian ecclesiastics. When he was once more in his own chamber, however, he took forth the packets he had received from Lomelini, and opened the cover of the one which had the seals unbroken. It contained a letter from the Duke of Orleans, brief and sad, speaking of the child which De Brecy had adopted, of her mother, and of the jewels contained in the other packet. The duke acknowledged her as his child, saying, "I recognized her at once by the ring which you showed me, as the daughter of her whom I wronged and have lost. It was taken at the same time that my poor Marie's life was taken; for, as you doubtless know, she was murdered under my very roof--yes, I say murdered. Had the dagger found my heart instead of hers, another word, perhaps, would have been better fitted; for mine was a wrong which merited death. I wronged her; I wronged her murderer."
He then went on to urge Jean Charost to perform well the task which he had undertaken, and which he had certainly well performed without exhortation; and the duke ended by saying, "I have seen you so far tried, Monsieur De Brecy, that I can trust you entirely. I know that you will be faithful to the task; and, as far as I have power to give authority over my child, I hereby give it to you."
Those were joyful words to Jean Charost, and for a moment he gave way to wild and daring hopes. He thought he would claim that right, even against the king himself; but short consideration, and what he knew of the law of France, soon dimmed all expectation of success.
The other papers which the packet contained were merely letters in a woman's hand, signed Marie de St. Florent; but they were pleasant to Jean Charost's eyes, for they showed how the unhappy girl had struggled against her evil fate. In more than one of them, she besought the duke to let her go--to place her in a convent, where, unknown to all the world, she might pass the rest of life in penitence and prayer. They spoke a spirit bowed down, but a heart uncorrupted.