The
Abbe stood finding the place in his book; Lamont was at a safe
distance, however, trying to induce her to rise. The Coadjutor's
clear voice was heard.
'Benedicite, Messieurs,' he said, and oh! the start they gave! 'What
hole function am I interrupting, M. l'Abbe? The lady is in the
attitude of a penitent, but I was not aware that it was one of the
customs of your order to absolve thus in public.'
'Monseigneur,' said the Abbe, 'neither was I aware that Episcopal
surveillance extended to religious houses.'
Margaret here broke in. She had risen to her feet, and looking at
the Archbishop, with eyes beaming in her pale face, she cried: 'Oh!
Monseigneur, you are come to save me! These wicked men are striving
to marry me against my will.'
'To celebrate the marriage sacrament,' continued the Coadjutor, in
his calm sneering tone; 'then M. l'Abbe, I suppose you have procured
the necessary permission from the curate of the parish to perform the
rite at this strange time and place? I am sorry, Messieurs, to break
up so romantic a plan, savouring of the fine days of the quatre fils
Aymon, but I must stand up for the claims of the diocese and the
parish.'
M. de Lamont turned round to my sister, and made one of his lowest
bows, such as no one but a French courtier CAN make (thank Heaven!).
'Madame,' he said, 'we are disconcerted, but I shall still put my
trust in the truth that beauty ever pardons the efforts of love.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292