roses, the helm-shaped arches, the coat of mail that clothes the older spire, the iron trellis-pattern of some of the panes—nothing that does not arouse a memory of the passage at Prime and the hymn at Lauds in the minor office of the Virgin, and typify the terribilis ut castrorum acies ordonata, the privilege She possesses when She chooses to use it, of being 'terrible as an army arrayed for battle.'
"But She does not often choose to exert here, I believe; this cathedral mirrors rather Her inexhaustible sweetness, Her indivisible glory."
"Ah! Much shall be forgiven you because you have loved much," cried Madame Bavoil.
And Durtal having risen to say good-bye, she kissed him affectionately, maternally, and said,—
"We will pray with all our might, our friend, that God may enlighten you and show you your path, may lead you Himself into the way you ought to go."
"I hope, Monsieur l'Abbé, that during my absence your rheumatism will grant you a little respite," said Durtal, pressing the old priest's hand.
"Oh, I must not wish to have no sufferings at all, for there is no cross so heavy as having none," replied the Abbé. "So do as I do, or rather, do better than I, for I still repine; put a cheerful face on your aridity, and your trials.—Goodbye, God bless you!"
"And may the great Mother of Madonnas of France, the sweet Lady of Chartres, protect you!" added Madame Bavoil.
And when the door was shut, she added with a sigh,—
"Certainly, I should be very grieved if he left our town for ever, for that friend is almost like a child of our own! At the same time I should be very, very happy to think of him as a true monk!"