'
'So it may be Monsieur,' returned Margaret, already fully herself,
and looking as tall, white, and dignified among them as a goddess
among apes, 'so it may be, where there is either beauty or love;' and
she made him a most annihilating curtsey. Then turning to the
Coadjutor she said: 'Monseigneur, I cannot express my obligations to
you;' and then as Clement stood behind him, she added: 'Ah, Monsieur,
I knew I might reckon on you,' holding out her hand, English fashion.
She did not see us, but M. d'Aubepine, who was slinking off the
scene, like a beaten hound, as well he might, unaware that we were in
the antechapel, caught his foot and spur in Madame Darpent's long
trailing cloak, and came down at full length on the stone floor,
being perhaps a little flustered with wine. He lay still for the
first moment, and there was an outcry. One of the soldiers cried out
to the other as Madame Darpent's black dress and white cap flashed
into the light:
'It is the holy saint who has appeared to avenge the sacrilege! She
has struck him dead.'
And behold the superstition affected even the licentious good-for-
nothing Abbe. Down he dropped upon his knees, hiding his eyes, and
sobbing out: 'Sancta Margarita, spare me, spare me! I vow thee a
silver image. I vow to lead a changed life. I was drawn into it,
holy Lady Saint. They showed me the Prince's letter.'
He got it all out in one breath, while some of them were lifting up
d'Aubepine, and the Coadjutor was in convulsions of suppressed
laughter, and catching hold of Clement's arm whispered: 'No, no,
Monsieur, I entreat of you, do not undeceive him.
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