Rosaline looked at him searchingly; she had long ago weighed Père Ambroise and found him wanting.
“He is my Judge,� she replied, and closed her lips firmly.
It was not the hour for religious controversy, and the priest knew it; he pursed up his lips and was silent. But she had a purpose at heart, and not even his frowns discouraged it.
“Père Ambroise,� she said, “I want to go into Nîmes now—at once—to see my grandmother. I will consent to nothing until I do—you can get this favor for me—I ask nothing else, but oh, do this for me!�
Père Ambroise had been considering many things, and he was not unwilling to listen to so reasonable a desire. Indeed, he had been thinking with some pity of poor old Madame de St. Cyr.
“It shall be done,� he said, “but not until M. de Baudri comes; I have no authority, but he cannot refuse this at my request.�
Rosaline thanked him without emotion; the girl’s passionate grief and rebellion had spent itself in a night of agony; she had reached the dead level of despair. She still believed her lover to be a prisoner, for Babet had been too wise to hold out uncertain hopes, and Rosaline had made up her mind to sacrifice herself for her two loved ones, and the sacrifice she contemplated was worse to her than death. No victim was ever prepared to be laid on the altar with a greater vigil of misery. She would have died gladly, but this was far more terrible and more degrading. She was in a stupor of misery, but yet too wise to expect relief from Père Ambroise. His point of view and hers were sundered as widely as the poles. To him it was only an undesirable step toward her conversion, and a certain way of saving her life.
It was early, and the placid father left the victim to her reflections and, proceeding to the pantry, foraged with some comfort. He was too intimately acquainted with Babet’s peculiarities to approach her at such a moment with a demand for breakfast, but he managed to comfort the inner man with the remains of a cold chicken pasty and a salad, and some more diligent search unearthed a small bottle of eau-de-vie, so that he emerged from his seclusion, at last, wiping his lips and with an air of satisfaction. After this, he mounted his spectacles and searched Madame de St. Cyr’s little library for heretical books, but the old gentlewoman had been too cautious to be so easily betrayed, and he found nothing of interest.
Thus it happened that when M. de Baudri arrived at ten o’clock he found Père Ambroise in possession, and fell to cursing his luck, knowing well enough that the priest had both the will and the power to hamper his designs. He held the corpulent father in supreme contempt, but he dared not insult him at a time when the priests were supreme, nor could he drive Rosaline to extremities while she had such a respectable protector. M. de Baudri was a keen man, and he saw that a few concessions might gain an ally, while insolence would make an undesirable enemy. There was no hope of his marrying Rosaline if Père Ambroise chose to declare her a heretic and have her shut up in a convent. The priest held the winning card and knew it, and it took him only half an hour to arrange that the young girl should accompany him to see her grandmother, under the escort of M. de Baudri and his dragoons.
Before eleven, therefore, they were on the road to Nîmes. A carriage had been obtained at St. Césaire, and the priest, Rosaline, and Babet sat within it, while M. de Baudri rode beside it and a guard of dragoons followed at a short distance. Rosaline felt herself to be on the way to an open grave, and she leaned back in her corner with closed eyes. No one spoke, and the drive was taken in silence. Finally they passed through the Porte de France and then proceeded more slowly through the streets. The noises of the city aroused the poor girl a little, and she looked out, only to shrink again from the curious stare of the crowd. On the carriage went, turning at last into a long street and then stopping at the door of the common jail. Happily for Rosaline, she did not recognize it, though she shuddered as she passed under the grim portal with Père Ambroise. They were alone, the others remaining without, and they were admitted with but little parley. Like a somnambulist, the girl passed through a gloomy corridor and saw the jailer unfastening the bolts of a strong door. The man threw it open and stood back, and Rosaline did not heed his remark to the priest.