The priest laid his hand over his eyes and was silent for a moment as if stunned.
“Help my daughter,” cried the old mother; “she is fainting.”
“The air is so keen, it overcomes me,” said Madame Graslin, as she fell unconscious into the arms of the two priests, who carried her into one of the lower rooms of the chateau.
When she recovered consciousness she saw the priests on their knees praying for her.
“May the angel you visited you never leave you!” said the bishop, blessing her. “Farewell, my daughter.”
Overcome by those words Madame Graslin burst into tears.
“Tears will save her!” cried her mother.
“In this world and in the next,” said the bishop, turning round as he left the room.
The room to which they had carried Madame Graslin was on the first floor above the ground-floor of the corner tower, from which the church and cemetery and southern side of Montegnac could be seen. She determined to remain there, and did so, more or less uncomfortably, with Aline her maid and little Francis. Madame Sauviat, naturally, took another room near hers.
It was several days before Madame Graslin recovered from the violent emotion which overcame her on that first evening, and her mother induced her to stay in bed at least during the mornings. At night, Veronique would come out and sit on a bench of the terrace from which her eyes could rest on the church and cemetery. In spite of Madame Sauviat’s mute but persistent opposition, Madame Graslin formed an almost monomaniacal habit of sitting in the same place, where she seemed to give way to the blackest melancholy.