He threw his head back, and, with a swift glance, took in the whole scene; the fleckless blue overhead, the closely gathered city beneath, the lights and shades that played in the dewy greensward at his feet, and, turning about, his mother’s loving face—a fit climax for the morning.
“Bon jour, Mère Chevreuse!” he called out, touching his barrette.
As he disappeared into the house, Mrs. Chevreuse went into her own sitting-room, which opened from his, and gave a last glance at the table prepared for his breakfast. The preparation was not elaborate. A little stand by the eastern window held a pitcher of milk, a bowl and spoon, and a napkin; and Jane, following the priest up-stairs, added a dish of oatmeal pudding.
F. Chevreuse walked briskly through the entry, and threw the street door wide open, then came back singing, “Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and the King of glory shall come in!” and continued, as he entered the room, his voice hardly settled from song to speech, “What created things are more like the King of glory than light and air? They are as his glance and his breath.”
The look that met his was sympathizing, but the words that replied were scarcely an answer to his question. “Your breakfast is cooling, F. Chevreuse,” she said.
He took no heed, but, clasping his hands behind him, walked to and fro with a step that showed flying would have been the more congenial motion.
“Mother,” he exclaimed, “the mysteries of human nature are as inscrutable as the mysteries of God. Would the angels believe, if they had not seen, that a Mass has been said this morning here in the midst of a crowded city, with only a score or so of persons to assist? Why was not the church thronged with worshippers, and thousands pressing outside to kiss the foundation-stones? When I turned with the Ecce Agnus Dei, why did not all present fall with their faces to the floor? And when Miss Honora Pembroke walked away from the communion-railing, why did not every one look at her with wonder and admiration?—the woman who bore her God in her bosom! And just now, when the sun rose”—he stopped and looked at his mother with a combative air—“why did not the people look up and hail it as the signet of the Almighty?”
Mother Chevreuse smiled pleasantly. She was used to being set up as a target for these unanswerable questions, especially in the morning, at which time the priest was likely to be, as Jane expressed it, “rather high in his mind.”
“If you could take your breakfast, my son,” she suggested.
“Breakfast!” He glanced with a look of aversion at the table that held his frugal meal, considered a moment, recognized the propriety of its existence, finally seated himself in his place, and began to eat with a very good appetite. “You were quite right, my lady,” he remarked; “the sunshine was drinking my milk all up. What thirsty creatures they are, those beams!”