Mme. de la Vaudraye hesitated, or rather seemed to hesitate, and then blurted out:
“Because you do not live alone.”
She rose, thinking that Gilberte must be crushed under this accusation. But Gilberte, casting about ingenuously for what her visitor could have meant, repeated:
“Not alone! Well, of course not, as Adèle is here, with her husband and her son!”
“There, don’t be alarmed, child,” concluded Mme. de la Vaudraye, in a patronizing little way. “That is only so much talk and gossip, which I shall know how to put down, if you will help me. It only wants a small sacrifice. For instance, I shall be making the collection at High Mass, on Sunday: promise me to come. It’s a promise, isn’t it?” she said, as she went away.
Gilberte would much rather have stayed quietly at home; but, as she had been told that that was impossible, she gave up the idea:
“It seems to hurt people,” she said to herself.
And, on the Sunday morning, when the bells rang for mass, she left the Logis for the first time.
She felt, in the crowded high-street, as though she were awaking from a dream of peace and silence, so intense was her dislike of bustle and noise. There were people at the windows, people at the shop-doors, people in the church-porch; and all those people were watching her, staring at her and whispering as she passed.
The church was a refuge, despite the crowd that filled it and despite the excitement provoked by her presence. Every one was astounded at her youthfulness, dazzled by her beauty. When she walked down the nave again, a murmur of admiration rippled through the rows of worshippers. But, when she reached the holy-water basin, an incident occurred that delayed her for a few seconds. Three men had rushed forward. And, with one movement, three hands were dipped into the marble basin and held out to her. She lowered her veil and went on.