Mr. Gerald smiled at this little duel, as men are wont to smile at such scenes. It did not hurt him, and it did amuse him.
“But the best part of the business is that F. Chevreuse has asked Mr. Schöninger to play in his stead,” pursued the news-bringer. “He has written a note requesting him to call there this evening.”
Miss Ferrier drew her shawl about her, and leaned back against the cushions. She had an air of dismissing the subject and the company which, not being either rude or affected, was so near being stately that Mr. Gerald was pleased with it, and, to reward her, begged an invitation to lunch.
“I had just come out for my daily sandwich,” he said; “but if you will take pity on me—“
She smilingly made room for him by her side, and drove off full of delight.
The afternoon waned, and, as evening approached, Mrs. Chevreuse sat in her own room again, waiting for the priest to come home. She had visited her sick and poor, looked to her household affairs, stepped into the church to arrange some fresh flowers, and see that the candlesticks shone with spotless brilliancy, and was now trying to interest herself in a book while she waited. But it was hard to fix her attention; it constantly wandered from the page. Jane had heard and told her of the accident to their organist, and the rumor that Mr. Schöninger was to take his place; but had not told the news by any means with the glee of a Lily Carthusen. On the contrary, it had seemed to her mind an almost incredible horror that a Jew was to take any part in a service performed before the altar whereon the Lord of heaven was enthroned. To Jane’s mind, every Jew was a Judas. That he could be moral, that he could adore his Creator and pray earnestly for forgiveness of his sins, she did not for an instant believe. The worst criminal, if nominally a Catholic, was in her eyes infinitely preferable to the best Jew in the world.
“Andrew declared it was so, madame, and that he carried a note to that Mr. Schöninger before dinner,” she said, concluding her lamentation; “but nothing will make me believe it till I hear F. Chevreuse say so with his own mouth.”
“Oh! well, don’t distress yourself about it, Jane,” her mistress replied soothingly. “Perhaps it is a mistake; but, if it is not, you may be sure that F. Chevreuse knows best. He always has good reasons for what he does. Besides, we must be charitable. Who knows but the services of the church and our prayers might, by the blessing of God, convert this man.”
“Convert a rattlesnake!” cried Jane, too much excited to be respectful.
But Mrs. Chevreuse, though she had spoken soothingly to her subordinate, was not herself altogether satisfied. She was a woman of large mind and heart; yet, if any one people in the world came last in her regard, it was the Jewish people. Moreover, she had seen Mr. Schöninger but once, and then at an unfortunate moment when something had occurred to draw that strange blank look over his face. The impression left on her mind was an unpleasant one that there was something dark and secret in the man.