Eugene saw his sister turned pale, and guessing something of what was passing in her thoughts, led her hastily down a narrow staircase, on the opposite side to which he had entered. He opened another door, which brought them into a secluded shrubbery, which he had never before observed. They walked a few yards, and then came to a low, vaulted archway. They entered, for the key was in the lock; and though the door turned somewhat heavily on its rusty hinges, they easily pushed it open. Another door presented itself, and that, too, was unlocked. Wondering, they entered. Stealthily, yet scarcely knowing why they were so hushed, they moved forward, and found themselves in a small, deserted chapel Stained glass was in the windows; the stone altar yet remained; fluted pillars marked the aisles; a large cross was wrought in one of the walls, in stone work; but the seats and ornaments were gone. A damp, earthy smell pervaded the place. Adelaide was chilled and drew back.
"Nay, stay one moment," pleaded Eugene. "I will open the window. Let us see what this place is."
They approached, but suddenly they perceived Euphrasie on her knees, in a niche formed in the wall, while M. Bertolot, seated on a step beside her, seemed in the very act of raising his and over her in benediction.
Adelaide started as if an adder had stung her. She suppressed a shriek and hastily turned away. Eugene followed and reverently closed the door.
The duchess was too much annoyed to speak. She was moody for the rest of the day, but made no remark on the subject which occupied her thoughts. The day after, Eugene was reading near her, while Euphrasie was seated by the window, employed in working embroidery, when the duchess began, in a somewhat bitter tone:
"Well, Eugene, in one thing you have disappointed me. You used to the so fond of art; and your visits to the Pantheon have have been so very few, and so very short, that I wonder what is the matter with you. What objection can you have to what all the world terms master-pieces?"
"None at all—indeed none, my dear sister. Your statuary is magnificent, unrivaled." This was said in a deprecating tone, for Eugene earnestly wished to avoid discussion. "There can be no fault to find with the Pantheon. It is I who am to blame. I am out of taste just now. Jupiter and Mars have ceased to interest me. My taste for paganism has had its day, I presume. We cannot always be wrapt up in the same things."
But the duchess was not satisfied with this answer. It rather increased her annoyance, and she replied in the same bitter tone:
"I marvel to hear you and Euphrasie condemn idolatry, while she is on her knees before an image for hours together, and you see no idolatry in that."