“That is all! Thanks, Wilhelmina. I will be with you soon. I long to see her once again.”
All that evening the countess kept Elizabeth near her, and every hour her admiration increased. A maiden so beautiful, yet so ignorant of her own charms, so unworldly, so innocent, she had never seen. Alone in her room that night she fell trembling upon her knees—poor, passionate, self-willed mother!—before the statue of the Holy Mother bearing the divine Son in her arms, and she held up her hands and prayed aloud.
“I have found her at last,” she cried—“a child who has won her way into my heart at once with no effort of her own; a pearl among all pearls; one whom my boy must love. Lord Jesus, have I not given thee two sons? Give me now one son to keep for my own, and not for thee. Grant that he may love this precious creature, fit for him as though thou thyself hadst made her for him, even as Eve was made for Adam.” And then she covered her face, and sobbed and pleaded with long, wordless prayers.
The next day saw her on her homeward way, but not alone. She had coaxed in her irresistible fashion till she had obtained for herself from her friend a part of Elizabeth’s visit; and Elizabeth felt as if she were living in a dream, there in the costly coach, wrapped in furs and watched by those beautiful eyes. Constantly the countess talked with her, leading the conversation delicately in such a manner that she found out much in regard to Elizabeth’s home, and penetrated into her hidden sorrows in regard to the coldness and lack of sympathy there. And it needed no words to tell that this was a heart which craved sympathy and love most keenly; which longed for something higher and stronger than itself to lean upon. Every time she looked at the sensitive face, endowed with such exquisite refinement of beauty; every time the childlike yet longing, unsatisfied eyes met hers; every time the musical voice fell upon her ears, fearing ever an echo of that same craving for something more and better than the girl had yet known, madame’s mother-heart throbbed towards her, and it seemed to her that she could hardly wait for the blessing which, she had persuaded herself, was surely coming to her at last.
Now and then she spoke of the country through which they passed: and to Elizabeth it was almost incredible that such wealth could belong to one person only. Now and then she spoke of “my son” in a tone of exultant love, and then Elizabeth trembled a little; for she dreaded to meet this stranger. Very grand and proud she fancied him; one who would hardly notice at all a person so insignificant as herself.
“Here is the village chapel, Elizabeth,” madame said, as the coach stopped suddenly. “Will you scold, my little one, if I go in for a minute to the priest’s house? Or perhaps you would like to visit the Blessed Sacrament while I am gone?”
Yes, that was what Elizabeth would like indeed; and there she knelt and prayed, never dreaming how much was being said about her only next door.
“Father!” madame exclaimed impetuously to the gray-haired priest who rose to greet her, “I must have Mass said for my intention every morning for a week. See, here is a part only of my offering.” And she laid a heavy purse upon the table. “If God grant my prayer, it shall be doubled, tripled.”
“God’s answers cannot be bought, madame,” the priest said sadly, “nor can they be forced.”
“They must be this time, then, father. You must make my intention your own. Will you not? Will you not for this once, father?”