And then, from the shadowed corner came in a high, melancholy voice the words:
“To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
Looking closer, I saw it was Mathilde.
Doltaire smiled as I turned and begged a moment’s time to speak to her.
“To pray with the lost angel and sup with the Intendant, all in one night—a liberal taste, monsieur; but who shall stay the good Samaritan!”
They stood a little distance away, and I went over to her and said, “Mademoiselle—Mathilde, do you not know me?”
Her abstracted eye fired up, as there ran to her brain some little sprite out of the House of Memory and told her who I was.
“There were two lovers in the world,” she said: “the Mother of God forgot them, and the devil came. I am the Scarlet Woman,” she went on; “I made this red robe from the curtains of Hell—”
Poor soul! My own trouble seemed then as a speck among the stars to hers. I took her hand and held it, saying again, “Do you not know me? Think, Mathilde!”
I was not sure that she had ever seen me, to know me, but I thought it possible; for, as a hostage, I had been much noticed in Quebec, and Voban had, no doubt, pointed me out to her. Light leapt from her black eye, and then she said, putting her finger on her lips, “Tell all the lovers to hide. I have seen a hundred Francois Bigots.”