“I will go in,” said Eugene; “but first your blessing, monsieur le curé; for I no longer hate the priesthood, and say if you will that you do not blame me.”
The curé suddenly became calm. An angelic smile overspread his face; and as Eugene drew his cap from his head, the man laid his hands on his smooth dark hair, and slowly pronounced a blessing.
“Au nom de Dieu,” Eugene murmured after him; then he flung himself in the curé’s arms, and embraced him heartily.
“We shall meet again, little one,” said the curé, “we shall meet again;” and the last object that the boy’s eyes rested on as his train pulled slowly out of the station was the tall black figure of the priest standing a little back from the crowd, his black hat in his hand, his finger pointing solemnly upward from the noise and babel of the city.
Eugene sat very quiet and still in his seat. His heart was sore at the parting from the curé, which was like the snapping of the last link that bound him to his native land; and yet it was singing like a bird at the prospect of his speedy reunion with his foster-parents. He closed his happy eyes; and in a very few minutes he had fallen sound asleep, with a smile on his face that made every passer-by look at him in amusement.
The curé knew that Eugene, who had at different times in his life spent many months in Paris, would be quite able to look out for himself on reaching the city that had been his home for so many months. He would have been more convinced of this had he seen the adroit way in which the boy slipped between the throng of people when he reached Boston. He took a short cut to the street corner where he would find a car, and in a very short time his eye singled out the desired one from a number that were approaching. He sprang on it, and was borne swiftly away from the streets toward the large park which had become the dearest spot on earth to him.
Soon he saw against the western sky the tall straight poplars of the Boylston-street entrance; and springing from the car as it stopped on a corner, he ran, for he was too much agitated to walk, in the direction of the cottage.
“Ah, that woman, that woman,” he kept repeating to himself; “but she will be glad to see me.”
Though it was quite dark, there were no lights in the windows.