"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen." I had finished the decade. And then as one awakes from a trance I rose softly and as softly crept back to the Parish House, happy and at peace, because I had seen that which makes the morning stars rejoice when they sing together.
"Armand," said my mother, sleepily, "is that you, dear? I must have been nodding in my chair. Mary Virginia's just walked to the gate with Laurence."
"My goodness," said she, half an hour later. "What on earth can that child mean? Hadn't you better call her in, Armand?"
"No," said I, decidedly.
Laurence brought her back presently. There must have been something electrical in the atmosphere, for my mother of a sudden sat bolt upright in her chair. Women are like that. That is one of the reasons why men are so afraid of them.
"Padre, and p'tite Madame," began Laurence, "you've been like a father and mother to me—and—and—"
"And we thought you ought to know," said Mary Virginia.
"My children!" cried my mother, ecstatically, "it is the wish of my heart! Always have I prayed our good God to let this happen—and you see?"
"But it's a great secret: it's not to be breathed, yet," said Mary Virginia.
"Except, of course, my father—" began Laurence.