“I should like to know what you think of yourself for a priest, making my own servants disobey me,” the poor woman cried, relapsing into tears. And then, instantly recovering her spirit, she added, “If I cannot go to the prison, I will know where my poor daughter is. I believe Mrs. Gerald could tell. She must know where they are hid. I will have Annette back again.”
“You had better come in and ask Mrs. Gerald,” F. Chevreuse said calmly. “Do not hesitate! It will, perhaps, be better for you to see her.”
She shrank a little, yet could not bear to remain inactive. To her mind, she had been hushed, and imposed on, and silenced by everybody, in order that this worthless criminal might ruin her daughter's happiness, and obtain possession of her money, and she was burning to pour her anger out on some one. F. Chevreuse's authoritative interference, while she yielded to it, only exasperated her more. “I will go in and find where Annette is,” she said resolutely, and stepped out of her carriage, too much excited to stumble.
Honora Pembroke came forward and stood between her and the door, looking in astonishment at the two priests who followed her.
“Let her go in!” F. O'Donovan said.
She was obliged to, indeed, for Mrs. Ferrier's strong hand set her aside as if she had been a feather.
The woman entered with a haughty step and a high head, her silks rustling about her through the solemn silence, and walked straight to the sitting-room. Mrs. Macon met her at the door, but she put her aside, and took a step into the room; only one step, and then she stopped short, and uttered a cry.
“See how that mother heard the news!” said F. Chevreuse in a low voice at her side. “Have you any questions to ask her?”
Mrs. Ferrier retreated a step, and leaned against the door-frame. They all drew back and left her a full view of the silent form stretched on the sofa, and only Honora Pembroke's weeping disturbed the silence.
“You don't say that it killed her!” she exclaimed in a low, frightened voice; then, before they could answer, she threw up her arms, and ran across the room. “You poor dear!” she sobbed. “You poor, broken-hearted dear!”