The Golden Dog [297]
and pray for poor Amelie, whom fate has stricken so hard and so cruelly in the very moment of her brightest hopes! And now let me go--alone--and God bless you all! Bid my aunt to come and see me," added she; "I cannot even wait her return."
The girls stood weeping around her, and kissed and embraced her over and over. They would not disobey her request to be allowed to go alone to the Convent, but as she turned to depart, she was clasped around the neck by Heloise de Lotbiniere, exclaiming that she should not go alone, that the light of the world had gone out for her as well as for Amelie, and she would go with her.
"But why, Heloise, would you go with me to the Convent?" asked Amelie, sadly. She knew but too well why.
"Oh, my cousin! I too would pray for Le Gardeur! I too--but no matter! I will go with you, Amelie! If the door of the Ursulines open for you, it shall open for Heloise de Lotbiniere also."
"I have no right to say nay, Heloise, nor will I," replied Amelie, embracing her; "you are of my blood and lineage, and the lamp of Repentigny is always burning in the holy chapel to receive broken- hearted penitents like you and me!"
"Oh, Heloise, do not you also leave us! Stay till to-morrow!" exclaimed the agitated girls, amazed at this new announcement.
"My mind is made up; it has long been made up!" replied Heloise. "I only waited the marriage of Amelie before consummating my resolution to enter the convent. I go now to comfort Amelie, as no other friend in the world can comfort her. We shall be more content in the midst of our sorrows to be together."
It was in vain to plead with or to dissuade them. Amelie and Heloise were inexorable and eager to be gone. They again kissed their companions, with many tears bidding them a last farewell, and the two weeping girls, hiding their heads under their veils, left the bright mansion that was their home, and proceeded with hasty steps towards the Convent of the Ursulines.
CHAPTER LII.
THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY.
Closely veiled, acknowledging no one, looking at no one, and not themselves recognized by any, but clinging to each other for mutual support, Amelie and Heloise traversed swiftly the streets that led to the Convent of the Ursulines.
At the doors, and in the porches and galleries of the old-fashioned houses, women stood in groups, discussing eagerly the wild reports that were flying to and fro through the city, and looking up and down the streets for further news of the tragedy in the market- place. The male part of the population had run off and gathered in excited masses around the mansion of the Golden Dog, which was suddenly shut up, and long streamers of black crape were hanging at the door.
Many were the inquisitive glances and eager whisperings of the good wives and girls as the two ladies, deeply veiled in black, passed by with drooping heads and handkerchiefs pressed against their faces, while more than one quick ear caught the deep, suppressed sobs that broke from their bosoms. No one ventured to address them, however, although their appearance caused no little speculation as to who they were and whither they were going.
Amelie and Heloise, almost fainting under their sorrow, stood upon the broad stone step which formed the threshold that separated the world they were entering into from the world they were leaving.
The high gables and old belfry of the Monastrey stood bathed in sunlight. The figure of St. Joseph that dominated over the ancient portal held out his arms and seemed to welcome the trembling fugitives into the house with a gesture of benediction.
The two ladies paused upon the stone steps. Amelie clasped her arm round Heloise, whom she pressed to her bosom and said, "Think before you knock at this door and cross the threshold for the last time, Heloise! You must not do it for my sake, darling."
"No, Amelie," replied she sadly. "It is not wholly for your sake. Would I could say it were! Alas! If I remained in the world, I could even now pity Le Gardeur, and follow him to the world's
The girls stood weeping around her, and kissed and embraced her over and over. They would not disobey her request to be allowed to go alone to the Convent, but as she turned to depart, she was clasped around the neck by Heloise de Lotbiniere, exclaiming that she should not go alone, that the light of the world had gone out for her as well as for Amelie, and she would go with her.
"But why, Heloise, would you go with me to the Convent?" asked Amelie, sadly. She knew but too well why.
"Oh, my cousin! I too would pray for Le Gardeur! I too--but no matter! I will go with you, Amelie! If the door of the Ursulines open for you, it shall open for Heloise de Lotbiniere also."
"I have no right to say nay, Heloise, nor will I," replied Amelie, embracing her; "you are of my blood and lineage, and the lamp of Repentigny is always burning in the holy chapel to receive broken- hearted penitents like you and me!"
"Oh, Heloise, do not you also leave us! Stay till to-morrow!" exclaimed the agitated girls, amazed at this new announcement.
"My mind is made up; it has long been made up!" replied Heloise. "I only waited the marriage of Amelie before consummating my resolution to enter the convent. I go now to comfort Amelie, as no other friend in the world can comfort her. We shall be more content in the midst of our sorrows to be together."
It was in vain to plead with or to dissuade them. Amelie and Heloise were inexorable and eager to be gone. They again kissed their companions, with many tears bidding them a last farewell, and the two weeping girls, hiding their heads under their veils, left the bright mansion that was their home, and proceeded with hasty steps towards the Convent of the Ursulines.
CHAPTER LII.
THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY.
Closely veiled, acknowledging no one, looking at no one, and not themselves recognized by any, but clinging to each other for mutual support, Amelie and Heloise traversed swiftly the streets that led to the Convent of the Ursulines.
At the doors, and in the porches and galleries of the old-fashioned houses, women stood in groups, discussing eagerly the wild reports that were flying to and fro through the city, and looking up and down the streets for further news of the tragedy in the market- place. The male part of the population had run off and gathered in excited masses around the mansion of the Golden Dog, which was suddenly shut up, and long streamers of black crape were hanging at the door.
Many were the inquisitive glances and eager whisperings of the good wives and girls as the two ladies, deeply veiled in black, passed by with drooping heads and handkerchiefs pressed against their faces, while more than one quick ear caught the deep, suppressed sobs that broke from their bosoms. No one ventured to address them, however, although their appearance caused no little speculation as to who they were and whither they were going.
Amelie and Heloise, almost fainting under their sorrow, stood upon the broad stone step which formed the threshold that separated the world they were entering into from the world they were leaving.
The high gables and old belfry of the Monastrey stood bathed in sunlight. The figure of St. Joseph that dominated over the ancient portal held out his arms and seemed to welcome the trembling fugitives into the house with a gesture of benediction.
The two ladies paused upon the stone steps. Amelie clasped her arm round Heloise, whom she pressed to her bosom and said, "Think before you knock at this door and cross the threshold for the last time, Heloise! You must not do it for my sake, darling."
"No, Amelie," replied she sadly. "It is not wholly for your sake. Would I could say it were! Alas! If I remained in the world, I could even now pity Le Gardeur, and follow him to the world's