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 end; but it must not--cannot be. Do not seek to dissuade me, Amelie, for it is useless."
"Your mind is made up, then, to go in with me, my Heloise?" said Amelie, with a fond, questioning look.
"Fully, finally, and forever!" replied she, with energy that left no room for doubt. "I long ago resolved to ask the community to let me die with them. My object, dear sister, is like yours: to spend my life in prayers and supplications for Le Gardeur, and be laid, when God calls me to his rest, by the side of our noble aunt, Mere Madelaine de Repentigny, whose lamp still burns in the Chapel of the Saints, as if to light you and me to follow in her footsteps."
"It is for Le Gardeur's sake I too go," replied Amelie; "to veil my face from the eyes of a world I am ashamed to see, and to expiate, if I can, the innocent blood that has been shed. But the sun shines very bright for those to whom its beams are still pleasant!" said she, looking around sadly, as if it were for the last time she bade adieu to the sun, which she should never again behold under the free vault of heaven.
Heloise turned slowly to the door of the Convent. "Those golden rays that shine through the wicket," said she, "and form a cross upon the pavement within, as we often observed with schoolgirl admiration, are the only rays to gladden me now. I care no more for the light of the sun. I will live henceforth in the blessed light of the lamp of Repentigny. My mind is fixed, and I will not leave you, Amelie. 'Where thou goest I will go, where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'"
Amelie kissed her cousin tenderly. "So be it, then, Heloise. Your heart is broken as well as mine. We will pray together for Le Gardeur, beseeching God to pity and forgive."
Amelie knocked at the door twice before a sound of light footsteps was heard within. A veiled nun appeared at the little wicket and looked gravely for a moment upon the two postulantes for admission, repeating the formula usual on such occasions.
"What seek you, my sisters?"
"To come in and find rest, good Mere des Seraphins," replied Amelie, to whom the portiere was well known. "We desire to leave the world and live henceforth with the community in the service and adoration of our blessed Lord, and to pray for the sins of others as well as our own."
"It is a pious desire, and no one stands at the door and knocks but it is opened. Wait, my sisters, I will summon the Lady Superior to admit you."
The nun disappeared for a few minutes. Her voice was heard again as she returned to the wicket: "The Lady Superior deputes to Mere Esther the privilege, on this occasion, of receiving the welcome postulantes of the house of Repentigny."
The portiere retired from the wicket. The heavy door swung noiselessly back, opening the way into a small antechamber, floored with smooth flags, and containing a table and a seat or two. On either side of the interior door of the antechamber was a turnstile or tourelle, which enabled the inmates within to receive anything from the outside world without being themselves seen. Amelie and Heloise passed through the inner door, which opened as of its own accord, as they approached it with trembling steps and troubled mien.
A tall nun, of commanding figure but benign aspect, received the two ladies with the utmost affection, as well-known friends.
Mere Esther wore a black robe sweeping the ground. It was bound at the waist by a leathern girdle. A black veil fell on each side of the snowy fillet that covered her forehead, and half covered the white wimple upon her neck and bosom.
At the first sight of the veil thrown over the heads of Amelie and Heloise, and the agitation of both, she knew at once that the time of these two girls, like that of many others, had come. Their arrival was a repetition of the old, old story, of which her long experience had witnessed many instances.
