For the first time she became conscious of the incongruity of her devotions. There broke in upon her mind a light that revealed her past doings in their true character. She was at the parting of the ways. If she must pray let her cease deceiving; if she must deceive, let her cease praying.
Her eyes, moving slowly round as if in the hope of receiving guidance from some object in the oratory, rested finally upon the western oriel, whose stained glass showed a divine face, lit up by the setting sun. She had seen this face many a time, but never before had it exercised so potent an attraction. The eyes seemed to be looking at her with infinite pity. Pauline thrilled.
Her intrigue for the diadem of empire was receiving a silent rebuke from a crown of thorns!
Vera, her face white and her eyes full of fear, came flying along the corridor that led to the oratory.
She tapped at the door once—twice—thrice.
Receiving no answer she entered and found her mistress in a swoon on the marble floor. Vera stopped short, her hands partly raised.
“She must have seen! But no! She could not from these windows.”
She flew to Pauline, dropped at her side, and, happening by good fortune to have her vinaigrette with her, employed it with such effect that before long Pauline opened her eyes and smiled faintly.
“Dear Baroness, what has happened? You are looking like the dead.”