The Golden Dog [302]
preserve that sole memorial of the glories and misfortunes of the noble house,--the lamp of Repentigny.
Amelie and Heloise remained long in the Chapel of Saints, kneeling upon the hard floor as they prayed with tears and sobs for the soul of the Bourgeois and for God's pity and forgiveness upon Le Gardeur.
To Amelie's woes was added the terrible consciousness that, by this deed of her brother, Pierre Philibert was torn from her forever. She pictured to herself his grief, his love, his despair, perhaps his vengeance; and to add to all, she, his betrothed bride, had forsaken him and fled like a guilty thing, without waiting to see whether he condemned her.
An hour ago Amelie had been the envy and delight of her gay bridesmaids. Her heart had overflowed like a fountain of wine, intoxicating all about her with joy at the hope of the speedy coming of her bridegroom. Suddenly the idols of her life had been shattered as by a thunderbolt, and lay in fragments around her feet.
The thought came upon her like the rush of angry wings. She knew that all was over between her and Pierre. The cloister and the veil were all that were left to Amelie de Repentigny.
"Heloise, dearest sister!" exclaimed she, "my conscience tells me I have done right, but my heart accuses me of wrong to Pierre, of falseness to my plighted vows in forsaking him; and yet, not for heaven itself would I have forsaken Pierre. Would that I were dead! Oh, what have I done, Heloise, to deserve such a chastisement as this from God?"
Amelie threw her arms around the neck of Heloise, and leaning her head on her bosom, wept long and without restraint, for none saw them save God.
"Listen!" said Heloise, as the swelling strain of the organ floated up from the convent chapel. The soft voices of the nuns mingled in plaintive harmony as they sang the hymn of the Virgin:
"Pia Mater! Fons amoris! Me sentire vim doloris Fac, ut tecum lugeam!"
Again came the soft pleading notes of the sacred hymn:
"Quando corpus morietur, Fac ut animae donetur Paradisi gloria! Amen!"
The harmony filled the ears of Amelie and Heloise, like the lap of the waves of eternity upon the world's shore. It died away, and they continued praying before Our Lady of Grand Pouvoir.
The silence was suddenly broken. Hasty steps traversed the little chapel. A rush of garments caused Amelie and Heloise to turn around, and in an instant they were both clasped in the passionate embrace of the Lady de Tilly, who had arrived at the Convent.
"My dear children, my poor, stricken daughters," exclaimed she, kissing them passionately and mingling her tears with theirs, "what have you done to be dashed to the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath?"
"Oh, aunt, pardon us for what we have done!" exclaimed Amelie, "and for not asking your consent, but alas! it is God's will and doing! I have given up the world; do not blame me, aunt!"
"Nor me, aunt!" added Heloise; "I have long known that the cloister was my sole heritage, and I now claim it."
"Blame you, darling! Oh, Amelie, in the shame and agony of this day I could share the cloister with you myself forever, but my work is out in the wide world, and I must not withdraw my hand!"
"Have you seen Le Gardeur? Oh, aunt! have you seen my brother?" asked Amelie, seizing her hand passionately.
"I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply. "Oh, Amelie! great as is his offence, his crime, yes, I will be honest calling it such,--no deeper contrition could rend his heart had he committed all the sins forbidden in the Decalogue. He demands a court martial to condemn him at once to death, upon his own self-accusation and confession of the murder of the good Bourgeois."
"Oh, aunt, and he loved the Bourgeois so! It seems like a hideous dream of fright and nightmare that Le Gardeur should assail the father of Pierre Philibert, and mine that was to be!"
At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom of the Lady de Tilly, convulsed and torn by as bitter sobs
Amelie and Heloise remained long in the Chapel of Saints, kneeling upon the hard floor as they prayed with tears and sobs for the soul of the Bourgeois and for God's pity and forgiveness upon Le Gardeur.
To Amelie's woes was added the terrible consciousness that, by this deed of her brother, Pierre Philibert was torn from her forever. She pictured to herself his grief, his love, his despair, perhaps his vengeance; and to add to all, she, his betrothed bride, had forsaken him and fled like a guilty thing, without waiting to see whether he condemned her.
An hour ago Amelie had been the envy and delight of her gay bridesmaids. Her heart had overflowed like a fountain of wine, intoxicating all about her with joy at the hope of the speedy coming of her bridegroom. Suddenly the idols of her life had been shattered as by a thunderbolt, and lay in fragments around her feet.
The thought came upon her like the rush of angry wings. She knew that all was over between her and Pierre. The cloister and the veil were all that were left to Amelie de Repentigny.
"Heloise, dearest sister!" exclaimed she, "my conscience tells me I have done right, but my heart accuses me of wrong to Pierre, of falseness to my plighted vows in forsaking him; and yet, not for heaven itself would I have forsaken Pierre. Would that I were dead! Oh, what have I done, Heloise, to deserve such a chastisement as this from God?"
Amelie threw her arms around the neck of Heloise, and leaning her head on her bosom, wept long and without restraint, for none saw them save God.
"Listen!" said Heloise, as the swelling strain of the organ floated up from the convent chapel. The soft voices of the nuns mingled in plaintive harmony as they sang the hymn of the Virgin:
"Pia Mater! Fons amoris! Me sentire vim doloris Fac, ut tecum lugeam!"
Again came the soft pleading notes of the sacred hymn:
"Quando corpus morietur, Fac ut animae donetur Paradisi gloria! Amen!"
The harmony filled the ears of Amelie and Heloise, like the lap of the waves of eternity upon the world's shore. It died away, and they continued praying before Our Lady of Grand Pouvoir.
The silence was suddenly broken. Hasty steps traversed the little chapel. A rush of garments caused Amelie and Heloise to turn around, and in an instant they were both clasped in the passionate embrace of the Lady de Tilly, who had arrived at the Convent.
"My dear children, my poor, stricken daughters," exclaimed she, kissing them passionately and mingling her tears with theirs, "what have you done to be dashed to the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath?"
"Oh, aunt, pardon us for what we have done!" exclaimed Amelie, "and for not asking your consent, but alas! it is God's will and doing! I have given up the world; do not blame me, aunt!"
"Nor me, aunt!" added Heloise; "I have long known that the cloister was my sole heritage, and I now claim it."
"Blame you, darling! Oh, Amelie, in the shame and agony of this day I could share the cloister with you myself forever, but my work is out in the wide world, and I must not withdraw my hand!"
"Have you seen Le Gardeur? Oh, aunt! have you seen my brother?" asked Amelie, seizing her hand passionately.
"I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply. "Oh, Amelie! great as is his offence, his crime, yes, I will be honest calling it such,--no deeper contrition could rend his heart had he committed all the sins forbidden in the Decalogue. He demands a court martial to condemn him at once to death, upon his own self-accusation and confession of the murder of the good Bourgeois."
"Oh, aunt, and he loved the Bourgeois so! It seems like a hideous dream of fright and nightmare that Le Gardeur should assail the father of Pierre Philibert, and mine that was to be!"
At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom of the Lady de Tilly, convulsed and torn by as bitter sobs