The Dream-Charlotte. A story of echoes

Front matter

By tlte same Author. A ROMANCE OF DIJON. THE CURB OF HONOUR. A STORY OF ECHOES BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS author of " the romance of dijon," " dr. jacob," " kitty " etc., etc LONDON ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 1896 All rights reserved CONTENTS CHAPTER FAGE I. The Confabulation ' II. The School-girl's Home-coming 15 III. A Family Group 34 IV. After-Breakfast Talk 5° V. The Events of a Sunday .... 67 VI. The Events of a Sunday {continued) . ■ 83 VII. The Events of a Sunday (continued) . 97 VIII. The Sunday's Close 113 IX. Resurrection I29 X. A Talk about Charlotte . . • • 143 XI. Revolution near Home 157 XII. Echoes of Charlotte . • • • 173 XIII. "Woman, behold thy Son!" ■ ■ .187 XIV. Anathema 203 XV. A Brownie's Love 2l6 XVI. "Not only the Priest — but the Man!" . 228 XVII. The Last Sacrifice 24° V VI CONTENTS CHAITER PAGE XVIII.

Yearning after a Son . . - ■ 254 XIX. Pippins and Patriots . . 268 XX. A Girl Revolutionary . - 278 XXI. Fleeing from a Mother 29° XXII. Waiting 304 XXIII. Peace and War 314 XXIV. The Unmistakable Voice .... 326 XXV. Angels of Peace and Discord . . 341 XXVI. Elucidations 351 XXVII. An Anniversary 361 XXVIII. Conclusion OR A STORY OF ECHOES.

Chapter I. The Confabulation

" That little Airelle ! " The last heavy caleche had rolled out of the courtyard; along hot, dusty roads, east, west, north, south, trotted the sturdy Norman horses, bearing their freight of girlish spirit and beauty from the cloister to the world. Did any bewitching face look back on the swiftly vanishing home of so many years ? Sighed some for the serene existence within convent walls, each season a copy of forerunner, each, if free from exhilaration, yet free from real sorrow ? Handkerchiefs had been waved, kisses blown, farewells reiterated, as the lofty iron portal was flung wide, then closed with knell- B I like reverberation through the vast quad rangle. The sound seemed to symbolize the life of those left behind, — cloistered votaries on whom prison doors would never open. Whilst their pupils sped homewards, every pretty head full of day-dreams, spiritual mothers and teachers chatted of this favourite and that, of successes, of failures also in the class-room.

Many a woman's destiny they now forecast, reading in the maiden of to-day the wife and mother of to-morrow, nor did they confine speculations to the fireside and matters of the heart only. The world indeed, its prizes and temptations seemed uppermost ; here, also, life being regarded as a game of chance, all honour due to the winner ! In an upper chamber commanding a magnificent perspective sat two nuns thus occupied. Both wore the coarse gray serge of the hum blest lay sister in the buttery — the crosses and rosaries at their girdle had cost a few sous ; there was nothing to distinguish them from scores of the same sisterhood, — nothing, yet everything ! The pair would have attained eminence in any calling, one by virtue of character, the other by force of intellect. Both were oldish, but consciousness of power is an amazing rejuvenator.

Existence so uniform as to appear automatic has advantages. Once the wrench made, the world given up, rendered microscopic by four walls, there is less wear and tear than outside. Exaggerated personality compensates for narrowed sympathies. These two women had doubtless found here a more varied, more interesting sphere of action than was possible under normal conditions. Matrons, they would have ruled a mere house hold ; reverend mothers, they governed a com munity, pupils, novices, foundlings, and lay serving folk, — made of this conventual estab lishment a second, lesser town. The lady abbess, or Mother Superior as she was called, evidently belonged to the noblesse, could boast of an ancestry that had neither wielded distaff nor plough. Yet she was plump, rubicund, heavy of build, whilst her bourgeois companion looked a mere shadow by comparison, still possessing those slender proportions so envied of women past their prime.

But creaseless forehead and soft purring speech may hide an iron will no less than ascetic features and rasping voice. The mistress maintained autocratic sway none quite knew how, the subordinate made herself obeyed, but by an effort ; that was the differ ence between them. No one perhaps under stood the pair. They were transparent to each other. "That little Airelle!" The Mother Superior stopped short as before and eyed her companion. Sister Savinienne, head teacher of the elder girls, ablest disciplinarian of an able staff, caught up the words ironically. When alone the pair were as unceremonious as fishwives. Before the world, the world of nuns and pupils, the superior was all hauteur and reserve, the subordinate abject in her obsequiousness. " Twiddle-dum-dee, my dear little soul," she said.

" Don't trouble your head about Char lotte's shadow, the farmer's daughter. Airelle will never come to any harm, never do any thing extraordinary. She is only an echo of her foster sister. Had you sighed over that little Charlotte, I should have accredited you with a ha'porth of sense." Mother Aubierge, thus named after a celebrated abbess of the twelfth century, took the familiarity in good part. Lazily opening her eyes, fixing their soft, insinuating glance on her confidante she made reply: — " Charlotte is as good a riddance as Airelle. But Charlotte possesses something besides wit and beauty — " "And enthusiasm, high-flown notions, wild fancies." " Charlotte is the daughter of noble parents and will, of course, marry. The sooner girls marry the better, when they begin to have ideas unlike other people's. But you and I have formed Mademoiselle Charlotte between us ; at least, so I flatter myself."

" This convent has existed for the best part of a thousand years," Sister Savinienne said, now speaking soberly and with deliberation. "We have turned out — I say 'we' because what are nuns after all ? Mere adjuncts, accessories of bricks and mortar, none having apparently — " " It is as well to put in that word. " Apparently more individualism. We have then turned out from first to last thousands of girls, for the most part high-bred, well-dow ered damsels, here made little women of the world, trained to play their little parts becom ingly. As far as I know, none ever did, less or more, cast dishonour or shed lustre upon this ancient house." "Your memory must be a very indifferent one for some matters, that is all I can say. You have forgotten our list, as long as your arm, of Duchesses, Marchionesses, Countesses, to say nothing of those who married ambassa dors, governors, judges — " " My dear, foolish, little creature," Sister Savinienne interrupted, "do you suppose I was thinking of titles, great names plentiful as blackberries ?

Not I. But celebrated women, notorious women, Maintenons, Montespans, Brinvilliers, — the like of these, name any if you can ! " " Heaven be praised, no. The convent can well spare celebrities and notorieties. Well, what on earth has this to do with Charlotte and Airelle ? " " You said a minute ago that the pair were a good riddance. Just explain that speech, my little innocent darling." " I have ever left you to yourself in dealing with our young ladies," the other answered in her soft, purring tones. " I know all the while what goes on. You never came with difficul ties to me. I could see nevertheless that these two tried you." "All girls try me," Sister Savinienne said, laying stress upon the adjective. " You have seen the King's tapestry weavers at Arras or Beauvais, haven't you ? Each workman has a pattern before him, some exquisite flower, bird, or butterfly, by his side a tangle of coloured threads ; hour after hour, day after day, month after month, he sits glued to his seat, now exactly imitating this petal, plume, or wing, now that, till at last his beautiful copy is fin ished and sent out to the world.

Do you suppose such an automaton loves his work? Depend on it, no more than I. We contrive to achieve the task somehow, the raw material is worked up into the desired commodity, the woman of the world. But the labours in volved ! The deception on both sides ! We must seem to love our little angels — or furies — cajole, flatter, fondle, however much they plague us. To return to Charlotte and Airelle, you are right, I had difficulties with them." The speaker now drew a note-book from the depths of her capacious pocket and open ing it on a well-thumbed page, continued : — " Not little trumpery, every-day worries. Oh dear, no! These two never plundered the jam cupboard by means of a false key, never barri caded the dormitory, bolstering the sister in charge till she was black and blue, never half poisoned themselves with emetics when ex amination day came round, never set fire to an outhouse for the sake of enjoying a com motion.

Charlotte and Airelle were above such little peccadilloes." " That is why I was glad to be rid of them. They think too much. Girls have no business to think." The other tossed her head derisively. "Say 'had,' not 'have,' dear little mother. Time makes a leap when the fit is on him. We have both heard the news from Paris." " Bah, mere moonshine ! " " You will see. You and I have lived fifty years over and above, but within the last few months France has grown centuries older. You don't believe it? You imagine that things are going on just as they were ? Wait and see. Anyhow we may comfort ourselves with the thought that the convent no longer harbours demagogues." Her superior looked or pretended to look incredulous. " I was glad to see Mademoiselle Charlotte and her foster sister go, because they were too enquiring, too speculative," she said, evidently unready for the wider topic.

Mother Au bierge's intellect, like her digestion, was to be relied upon, but slow. " They wanted more knowledge than we could, rather would, give them," replied Sister Savinienne. " Aye, and in spite of my keen lookout, got it too ! As you know when once my suspicions are aroused about any girl, I search high and low, pockets, mass-books, reti cules, desks, here is a copy of what I found in Charlotte's diary." With excellent elocution she read as fol lows : " ' It is a great evil when the head of a nation is the born enemy of liberty, he who ought to be its defender. This evil I do not hold irremediable.' " "That is from Rousseau," said the Mother Superior coolly. With all ladies of rank and education, she knew her Jean Jacques, also many another writer under ecclesiastical ban. " Of course, and when once such heresies circulate in the school-room, we shall have to put up our shutters and beg daily bread like the mendicant friars.

The time is perhaps nearer than you think. So much for the young lady's text, now for her sermon, at least a sample. 'Irremediable indeed! Ought the philosopher, much less the Christian, hold any crying evil past remedy ? This France of ours, this beloved mother country, is already waking up to such a truth, putting on armour as the crusaders of old, not to defend sacred ashes, a sepulchre, but to guard a mighty bring ing forth, infantine, yet Herculean Liberty ! ' — Humph, pretty well that for a minx of eighteen. But you don't know all yet." Pocketing her note-book, she went on eagerly. The revelation had as much piquancy as a scandal. " The two girls could not openly discuss such things, of course. The artfulness of their clandestine correspondence almost passes belief. They would slip little notes into each other's mass-books in chapel, scrawl on tiny scraps of paper, knead them into pellets, then pretend to play at ball !

And curl-papers ! Charlotte's one day, Airelle's the next. I should like — I really should — to print the reflections I once found on Charlotte's curl papers. They would not discredit La Roche foucauld himself." " After all," Mother Aubierge said, summing up everything in her placid, worldly-wise way, " a good marriage, two or three babies to look after, a household to manage, cure worse things than a fit of Rousseau. And young women of spirit and talent are subject to this sort of malady. Charlotte and Airelle will probably have dowries suitable to their position in life. Thanks to us, they are well educated and accomplished." " Besides being strikingly handsome." " Beauty need not count in their case. As I say, we shall hear of weddings and christenings in due course, that is all. We need not waste another thought upon the pair."

"That is your opinion, reverend mother? I differ from you. Time will show which is the wiser. Well, I will say my prayers, and then take a turn in the garden." " Have a bonbon, my dear," said the other, holding out a little silver box full of caramel and liquorice. Her companion stooped down, popped one, two, half-a-dozen sweetmeats in her mouth. The other followed her example; then, turning into a tiny oratory, the two holy women fell on their knees, rigid as statues. Meantime the last heavy-hooded vehicle in sight had diminished to the proportions of a fly, others disappearing altogether. Strangely solitary was the wide, uniform, Norman landscape, strangely contrasted with the city, — city of churches and conventual buildings, yet full of civic life and animation. From this van tage-ground could be seen as noble a view as any in Normandy.

The country lay outspread as a map, immediately opposite rose the town, veritable bouquet of stately ecclesiastical architecture: the graceful spire of St. Pierre, — arrow of stone shooting far into the sky, — the pinnacle of St. Etienne, the flying but tresses of its namesake, the quaint towers of St. Ouen, — all of varied tone, — dazzling white, silvery-gray, or sombre brown, each pile contrasted in form as in colour. Be yond straggling city with clustered domes and spires, beyond gray-walled stronghold, lofty ramparts and winding river, lay the open country, the so-called prairies ending where the apple orchards and cornfields began. Richly now the afternoon sun gilded the scene; not warmer, deeper in hue the sky of Athens itself than this luminous July atmosphere, setting off the exquisite tints of marble and build ing-stone, intensifying golden ear and ripening apple.

Forming a brilliant patch within the cloistered domain lay garden and orchard, crimsoning nectarine on sunlit walls, golden melon amid bluish-green leaves bearing testi mony no less to soil and climate than to excel lent husbandry. Westward the convent joined the magnificent mausoleum of Queen Matilda. With arrogance pardonable in its foundress, she had reserved a large portion of the church for her holy women and their pupils. Every Sunday and saint's day, the long procession of black-robed school-girls was marshalled by veiled nuns, also wearing black, along the vast, empty, white-walled corridors into their own especial chapel, there quite shut off from the rest of the congregation, themselves hardly visible to the crowd. From end to end of this time-honoured Convent of the Visitation reigned order and plenty. Famine was abroad throughout France. The awful spectre knocked not at such gates as these.

Chapter II. The School-girl's Home-coming

Meantime, at centipede's pace plodded the crazy old vehicle bearing Airelle from the cloister to the world. Many a noble demoi selle fetched in caleche with armorial bearings by governess and lackey, was home before their school-fellow's journey had fairly begun. The diligence, as it made slow way, seemed, perhaps, the least alive thing in these busy streets. Emerging from an old hostelry behind St. Pierre, it crept into the stately quadran gle set round with richly decorated burgher houses, not two of these alike. Some showed fanciful pinnacles and projecting dormers with sculptured armorial bearings ; others, carved balconies, lofty chimneys, and casements barred crosswise. No uniformity was here ; sumptu ousness had squalor next door; wooden walls and dilapidated roofs were side by side with palatial masonry.

As yet, street numbers had '5 not come into fashion. Each house, never theless, possessed its distinctive sign ; the noble displayed his quarterings, the merchant his ware, the craftsman his tool. The long, narrow streets winding towards the country showed even more picturesque ness and bustle. Here were timbered gables ; there lofty slated roofs, running to a sharp point; below, low archway disclosing quaint interior. Above the open stalls of mercer or fish-vender hung huge glove or mackerel, shop signs being necessary when few folks could read. Before wide doorways, all who could plied their trade abroad for the sake of sun shine and society. The gray and yellow walls and roofs of tile or slate stood out sharply against the burning, blue sky; whilst beyond, where the town ended and the country began, rich foliage above high garden walls added a new touch of colour.

Hitherto guarded sedulously as the rest, no sooner was Airelle outside convent gates, than the responsibility of former guardians ended. The farmer's daughter could enjoy the privilege of humble birth, and traverse half Nor mandy alone. Nothing seemed farther from Airelle's thoughts than dismay at such a prospect. Free, alike, from timidity and self-consciousness, greeting her travelling companions with friendliness, doing her best to be accommo dating in the hot, crowded interior, she ap peared absent-minded, as perhaps was only natural, wrapped in contemplation, but abso lutely at her ease. A tall, beautiful, by nature beautifully finished girl, the fine bloom of health on her cheeks, graceful yet muscular figure, and direct, alert glance, betokening enviable, if rustic, ancestry, Airelle was half peasant, half bourgeois.

By virtue of circumstances and education, she stood midway between the two conditions. With the utmost simplicity, she now studied at intervals a pocket volume of Corneille; as unaffectedly, she took from an ancient country woman her half-knitted stock ing of coarsest yarn, deftly plying the pins. " Let me finish off the heel for you, dear little mother," she said; then between reading and knitting, glanced behind. As the city gradually receded from view, one by one vanishing familiar features, the girl crimsoned, c bent low and brushed away a tear. Was she weeping for the cloistered calm now lost for ever? Was she regretting the boon companion of studious days, the unique, the adorable, henceforth her dream-Charlotte? Fair, indeed, showed this last beloved per spective. Craning her neck, Airelle caught sight of the wondrously beautiful spire of St. Pierre, of St. Jean with its twin towers, one, like so many human lives, a torso ; seen last of all, the superb mausoleum of Duke William, its vast congeries rising high above the city.

At first the landscape consisted of level fallow and pasture, a region desert-like in its treeless ness and monotony, yet not without beauty under play of golden light and deep purple shadow. Few and far between rose one storied, mud-walled, thatched cabins here iso lated, there grouped together as in Brittany. Elsewhere was seen a village, towering high above it one of those curious churches with lofty tower and double penthouse, recalling a lighthouse in mid-ocean. Dis proportionate except from a symbolic point of view are these quaint towers, higher far were their dimensions if intended to measure the supremacy of the Church ! At rare inter vals an isolated, walled-in farmhouse broke the level lines ; and patient stooping figures might be seen, men and women getting in their corn or buckwheat.

The day was one of sultry, windless, cloudless calm. Blindingly glistened the white, chalky landscape, as yet unrelieved by wood, stream, or pasture. And unspeakably quiet and deserted seemed the land; sandy entourage of Oriental city could hardly be more so. The wheels, harness, bells, and cracking whips of the stage-coach disturbed the still ness, no other sound. " Ah ! once my poor stiff finger joints were as nimble as yours, darling," said the old peasant. " How beautifully you heel ! But the Sisters of the Visitation know and teach everything, folks say." " Nay, not everything, mother," was the playfully ironic answer. Opposite the pair, under his knees piled canvas bags of grain, sat a burly farmer. He now eyed the knitter with paternal interest. " It costs a pretty penny to be educated at the Visitation, I'll warrant?" he asked, thinking of his own little daughter.

Things were fast changing in France. The noblesse was no longer to form a Chinese wall ; henceforth other titles were to count, so at least report said. Already honestly gained fortune was a power. Airelle answered frankly, — " Thirty louis d'or a year, I believe. But I was paid for by rich bourgeois, relations of my mother's nurse-child, my foster sister." " Did you learn the harpsichord ? " put in the other, his mouth evidently watering at the thought. Airelle's subdued manners, clear enunciation, and love of a book impressed him deeply. " For what purpose, neighbour, since I should never possess one ? " was the half-regretful an swer. " But the guitar I did learn, my dear foster sister presented me with an instrument, and singing all of us learned of course, flower painting too, and many kinds of fancy work."

"And composition?" rejoined the farmer, " the art of putting thoughts on paper, of say ing in a letter exactly what you want to say, neither a syllable more nor less. Did the ladies of the Visitation teach you that ? " Airelle laughed. " I was on the point of saying that we learned little else, in the way of book-learning, I mean. But it would not be true. We had to get pages of poetry by heart," she said. Her fellow-traveller again looked wistful. He imagined his little Jeanne being able to recite for hours at a time, as alluring a prospect as that of hearing her play on the harpsichord. He pondered and pondered. The heat was still stifling although the berline had not started till the afternoon. Red hot rays now beat against the western window, flimsy baize affording little protection. But travellers such as these were well inured to their torrid sum mers.

Farmer and peasant, merchant and notary, cure and lay sister, wiped steaming brows with huge cotton pocket handkerchiefs, drank copious draughts of cider, munched rye bread, then one by one, good humouredly dropped asleep. Soon all but Airelle yielded to drowsiness. The scene had now brightened, sweeps of velvety sward, foliage of poplar and acacia imparted a sense of coolness, the deep-green alder was reflected in crystal brook, hedges and a tangle of wild clematis and honeysuckle bordered wayside paths, the land rose and fell, not as yet breaking into hill and dale, but refreshingly varying the sameness. These scenes although dear and familiar had no fascination for the dreaming girl. With hands folded listlessly on her lap, knitting and book being given over for a while, she remem bered and remembered, the luxury of looking back purchased by falling tears.

Her fellow passengers woke to change posture and take another draught, that was all. She felt alone. Horses had been changed at wayside post houses, more than once, before the long un clouded day closed and only stars lit the way. Soon added speed, extra cracking of whips, and prolonged blasts of the driver's horn an nounced a longer halt. It was past midnight when they drove by the ivy-covered towers and choked-up moat of Bayeux; passing under neath the eastern city gate flanked with tur rets and by St. Martin's porch, from which piously hung a lantern, the coach dashed over the ancient stone bridge ; by gabled houses in stone and wood, through narrow streets feebly lighted by lanterns slung across a rope, the posthouse was reached, one of many with tapering roofs and tiers of dormer windows, forming a little square.

Dimly visible above these closely packed roofs and turrets were the spires of the Cathedral, its one Roman esque tower with terraced cupola soaring over the rest. The rattle over cobble-stones aroused the sleepiest, Airelle's fellow-passengers now rubbed their limbs, some got their belongings together. " Do you stop here, love ? " asked the gran dame of Airelle. The girl shook her head although without apparent regret. She was too much occupied with her own thoughts to feel bodily weari ness. By inheritance, moreover, came that strong, absolutely sound health, that power of physical resistance, rare as perfect beauty itself. " My home is at Le Rosel, in the Bessin. I shall not arrive till dawn," she said, as she helped her companion with her bundles. " Anyhow, alight and take a basin of soup, my girl," the farmer put in.

"You won't start under an hour, at least. I'll keep you company," he added kindly. " Thank you, neighbour. Ah, Pierre, it is you? But I have come to look after our little Airelle," shouted a benevolent, officious, un mistakably clerical voice at the door. Airelle, springing to the ground, was caught in the speaker's arms, kissed on either cheek, again and again, finally held at arm's length under the lantern overhead. " Father Patrix ! " she said, evidently grati fied, but without sharing his demonstrative ness. " How kind of you to look out for me!" " I did more, my child. I came on purpose to take you home. And you know," he added slily, " I love running about the world, and hearing the news. But you go inside, and sup, whilst I try to get a peep at a newspaper." Thereupon, he pointed to the salle a manger of the roomy, straggling old inn, commended her to the care of a stout, elderly landlady, and betook himself to the cafe adjoining.

The diligence that had brought Airelle hither at the same time brought letters and journals from Paris, the latter few and far between, and two days old. Father Patrix, having first ascured himself that his charge was being attended to, waited, in a fever of expectation. He was a brisk, bright-eyed man of sixty, with little of the priest about him but conventional accessories, tonsured crown, acquired officious ness, dress, and manners. Had destiny put him in his proper place, he would have made an admirable ambassador to half-civilized coasts. Up to a certain point and within certain limits, he could read men ; and dexter ously make their actions, of his own suggestion, appear wholly spontaneous and self-interested. Beyond such boundaries, he was wholly at a loss. Airelle's parents he could lead as chil dren; over herself, he exercised no influence whatever.

About the posthouse were stables, work shops, and warehouses, all now silent and deserted ; only the arrival of the diligence created a little stir in the place. Stable-boys with lanterns ran hither and thither, the watchman in his heavy cloak came to look on, a little cafe opposite showed cheerful light. Here were noisy card players and topers, their faces hardly discernible for tobaccosmoke, their voices raised to a deafening pitch. Father Patrix posted himself at the en trance, determined to waylay the flying sheet from Paris. One newspaper only, small and scantily supplied with news, found its way to this cathedral city of six or seven thousand souls. With the readers it was a case of first come, first served. The cure glanced at the card players within, chuckling to himself. No one seemed particularly anxious for tidings.

The world, that is to say the world of France, had just turned upside down. A few days since the Bastille had fallen, with it a political and judicial system hundreds of years old. Good hands at whist and ecarte seemed of more importance to all present. The momentary survey well-nigh cost Father Patrix his game. He had not noticed at the angle of the house a figure also on the alert. Nor apparently was his own errand divined by the furtive watcher. When at last a stable boy emerged from the doorway opposite, the journal in hand, both advanced eagerly, as they met almost tumbling into each other's arms. The messenger laughed aloud, and indeed under ordinary circumstances the in cident would have been droll enough. But despite the semi-darkness, Father Patrix recognized in his rival the self-styled minister of a heretical church, some Protestant even emboldened by recent events to wear his badge of office.

Death warrant but ten years before, the ecclesiastical cravat was to-day hardly visible. Eyes less keen would have passed it by. "The devil take you!" cried the ruffled priest, shaking himself as if from a swarm of wasps. " Can't you see where you are going? Am I to be kept waiting for the like of you ? " " Excuse me ; I was here first," replied the other, his hand still outstretched. "Yonder serving folk can back my statement." " Fellow, I have only five minutes — " Nor have I," was the quiet but decided answer. Justice was so clearly on the last speaker's side that even the errand boy hesitated. True enough, Father Patrix watched at the cafe door, but he had been long forestalled by the other. A second, and all indecision seemed over. Of course a priest must take precedence of a Huguenot!

Triumphantly the cure stretched his arm towards the prize, when, catching the pastor's dark look, the lad drew back his own. Brimful of mischief, agog for the sight of broken pates and bleeding noses, above all for a passage of arms be tween two reverend gentlemen, democratic, moreover, since a week ago, he waved his journal aloft, crying: — " Catch who can ! Now for it, my jolly turkey-cocks ! " Even bitter passions have their ludicrous side. The young scapegrace's face, voice, and gesture, street-urchinhood incarnate, con trasted as they were with the ugly looks of priest and pastor, must have raised a smile from the gravest. As will often happen in daily life, both men were irrationally exas perated by a trifle. Father Patrix did, in deed, recall the bird just alluded to: on tip-toe, cheeks red as the garters now freely displayed, muttering and gesticulating, he caught at the paper.