PRESENTIMENTS.
Whilst the preceding events took place in Dr.Baleinier's asylum, other scenes were passing about the same hour, at Frances Baudoin's, in the Rue Brise-Miche.
Seven o'clock in the morning had just struck at St.Mary church; the day was dark and gloomy, and the sleet rattled against the windows of the joyless chamber of Dagobert's wife.
As yet ignorant of her son's arrest, Frances had waited for him the whole of the preceding evening, and a good part of the night, with the most anxious uneasiness; yielding at length to fatigue and sleep, about three o'clock in the morning, she had thrown herself on a mattress beside the bed of Rose and Blanche.But she rose with the first dawn of day, to ascend to Agricola's garret, in the very faint hope that he might have returned home some hours before.
Rose and Blanche had just risen, and dressed themselves.They were alone in the sad, chilly apartment.Spoil-sport, whom Dagobert had left in Paris, was stretched at full length near the cold stove; with his long muzzle resting on his forepaws, he kept his eye fixed on the sisters.
Having slept but little during the night, they had perceived the agitation and anguish of Dagobert's wife.They had seen her walk up and down, now talking to herself, now listening to the least noise that came up the staircase, and now kneeling before the crucifix placed at one extremity of the room.The orphans were not aware, that, whilst she brayed with fervor on behalf of her son, this excellent woman was praying for them also.For the state of their souls filled her with anxiety and alarm.
The day before, when Dagobert had set out for Chartres, Frances, having assisted Rose and Blanche to rise, had invited them to say their morning prayer: they answered with the utmost simplicity, that they did not know any, and that they never more than addressed their mother, who was in heaven.When Frances, struck with painful surprise, spoke to them of catechi**, confirmation, communion, the sisters opened widely their large eyes with astonishment, understanding nothing of such talk.
According to her ****** faith, terrified at the ignorance of the young girls in matters of religion, Dagobert's wife believed their souls to be in the greatest peril, the more so as, having asked them if they had ever been baptized (at the same time explaining to them the nature of that sacrament), the orphans answered they did not think they had, since there was neither church nor priest in the village where they were born, during their mother's exile in Siberia.
Placing one's self in the position of Frances, you understand how much she was grieved and alarmed; for, in her eyes, these young girls, whom she already loved tenderly, so charmed was she with their sweet disposition, were nothing but poor heathens, innocently doomed to eternal damnation.So, unable to restrain her tears, or conceal her horrors, she had clasped them in her arms, promising immediately to attend to their salvation, and regretting that Dagobert had not thought of having them baptized by the way.Now, it must be confessed, that this notion had never once occurred to the ex-grenadier.
When she went to her usual Sunday devotions, Frances had not dared to take Rose and Blanche with her, as their complete ignorance of sacred things would have rendered their presence at church, if not useless, scandalous; but, in her own fervent prayers she implored celestial mercy for these orphans, who did not themselves know the desperate position of their souls.
Rose and Blanche were now left alone, in the absence of Dagobert's wife.
They were still dressed in mourning, their charming faces seeming even more pensive than usual.Though they were accustomed to a life of misfortune, they had been struck, since their arrival in the Rue Brise-
Miche, with the painful contrast between the poor dwelling which they had come to inhabit, and the wonders which their young imagination had conceived of Paris, that golden city of their dreams.But, soon this natural astonishment was replaced by thoughts of singular gravity for their age.The contemplation of such honest and laborious poverty made the orphans have reflections no longer those of children, but of young women.Assisted by their admirable spirit of justice and of sympathy for all that is good, by their noble heart, by a character at once delicate and courageous, they had observed and meditated much during the last twenty-four hours.
"Sister," said Rose to Blanche, when Frances had quitted the room, "Dagobert's poor wife is very uneasy.Did you remark in the night, how agitated she was? how she wept and prayed?"
"I was grieved to see it, sister, and wondered what could be the cause."
"I am almost afraid to guess.Perhaps we may be the cause of her uneasiness?"
"Why so, sister? Because we cannot say prayers, nor tell if we have ever been baptized?"
"That seemed to give her a good deal of pain, it is true.I was quite touched by it, for it proves that she loves us tenderly.But I could not understand how we ran such terrible danger as she said we did."
"Nor I either, sister.We have always tried not to displease our mother, who sees and hears us."
"We love those who love us; we are resigned to whatever may happen to us.
So, who can reproach us with any harm?"
"No one.But, perhaps, we may do some without meaning it."
"We?"
"Yes, and therefore I thought: We may perhaps be the cause of her uneasiness."
"How so?"
"Listen, sister! yesterday Madame Baudoin tried to work at those sacks of coarse cloth there on the table."
"Yes; but in about an half-hour, she told us sorrowfully, that she could not go on, because her eyes failed her, and she could not see clearly."
"So that she is not able to earn her living."
"No--but her son, M.Agricola, works for her.He looks so good, so gay, so frank, and so happy to devote himself for his mother.Oh, indeed! he is the worthy brother of our angel Gabriel!"
