For a moment, the whole party stood still in awe. The church was hung with black, and dimly lighted by wax tapers. Clouds of incense filled the air, and the black-robed figures of the nuns looked like shadows, as they knelt in prayer. Many strangers were present, but a deep, solemn hush reigned around.
The cause of all this was soon explained. At the foot of the altar, robed in her nun's dress, the lifeless form of one of the sisterhood lay in state. The beautiful face, shaded by the long, black vail, wore an expression of heavenly peace; the white hands clasped a crucifix to the cold breast. A nun stood at her head, and another at her feet—holding lighted tapers in their hands—so still and motionless, that they resembled statues.
It was Minnette! Their hearts almost ceased to beat, as they gazed. The look of deep calm—of child-like rest—on her face, forbade sorrow, but inspired awe. More lovely, and far more gentle than she had ever looked in life, she lay, with a smile still wreathing the sweet, beautiful lips. The blind eyes saw at last.
Suddenly, the deep, solemn stillness was broken, by the low, mournful wail of the organ; and like a wild cry, many voices chanted forth the dirge:
"Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla.
Pie Jesu Dominie,
Dona eis requiem."
Not one heart there, but echoed the burden of the grand old hymn:
"Lord of mercy—Jesus blest,
Grant thy servant light and rest!"
"Let us go—this scene is too much for you," said Louis, as Celeste clung, pale and trembling, to his arm. And together they quitted the convent.
They were followed by one, who, leaning against a pillar, had watched them intently all the time. He stepped after them into the street; and Louis, suddenly looking up, beheld him.
"Archie!" he cried, in a tone of mingled amazement and delight.