The gallop had already started, and every word the countess said only added to the anxious eagerness of the young girl.
“As for me,” said la Peyrade, sarcastically, “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if Pere Anselme’s young collaborator was that very Felix Phellion. Voltaire always kept very close relations with the Jesuits who brought him up; but he never talked religion with them.”
“Well, my young savant does talk of it to his venerable brother in science; he submits his doubts to him; in fact, that was the beginning of their scientific intimacy.”
“And does Pere Anselme,” asked Celeste, “hope to convert him?”
“He is sure of it,” replied the countess. “His young collaborator, apart from a religious education which he certainly never had, has been brought up to the highest principles; he knows, moreover, that his conversion to religion would make the happiness of a charming girl whom he loves, and who loves him. Now, my dear, you will not get another word out of me, and you may think what you like.”
“Oh! godmother!” whispered Celeste, yielding to the freshness of her feelings, “suppose it were he!”
And the tears filled her eyes as she pressed Madame Thuillier’s hand.
At this moment the servant threw open the door of the salon, and, singular complication! announced Monsieur Felix Phellion.
The young professor entered the room, bathed in perspiration, his cravat in disorder, and himself out of breath.
“A pretty hour,” said Phellion, sternly, “to present yourself.”