Part 21 (1/2)

Her first thought was that Renaud, if he had overtaken Rampal, whom he could not fail to master, would go without loss of time to the Chateau d'Avignon.

But her second thought was that he would return to Saintes-Maries to make the most of his triumph. She knew Renaud well! He was proud of his strength and address. He was spoiled by the public at the races, who applauded with hands and voice, and he loved to hear the ”Bravo, Renaud!”--He would return to the town, yes, he surely would!

He might imagine, indeed, that she, Livette, had remained there, and return on her account--and a little on the other's account, at the same time!--Ah! poor child! suspicion was just beginning to creep into her mind. Just G.o.d! suppose that that zingara woman should fascinate her Renaud!

Livette, having found her horse still tied to the church-wall, sent him to the stable at the inn and went to the fisherman Tonin's to share his _bouille-abaisse_.

”You did well, Livette,” said Tonin, ”you have avoided a sharp squall of the _mistral_. But I know what I'm talking about; it's nothing but a squall, and you can go home this afternoon quietly enough. It will be too hot, if anything. But what's the matter, that you're so thoughtful?”

Livette heard but little of all that was said at the fisherman's table, and, after due reflection, returned to Monsieur le cure's after the meal was at an end.

”Are you still at Saintes-Maries, little one?” he said, with a sad smile.

”I had a fright, my father----”

Livette sometimes addressed the cure thus, because of the custom in confession.

”A fright? how was that?”

”Suppose they have fought, who knows what may have happened? _Mon Dieu!_ chance is uncertain, and that Rampal is so treacherous that Renaud may be the loser. I would like, with your permission, Monsieur le cure, to go up on the roof of the church at once; from there I could see Renaud much sooner if he comes back here.”

The happy thought had come to her of watching her betrothed, as he himself had, that same morning, watched Rampal from the wine-shop window.

The cure smiled again and good-humoredly took down the keys of the little staircase that leads to the upper chapel and thence to the bell-tower.

He left the house, followed by Livette.

At the foot of the great bare wall of the church, so high and cold,--a veritable rampart with its battlements sharply defined against the blue of the sky,--the good cure opened the small door.

They ascended the stairs.

When they reached the upper chapel, which is just above the choir of the church, as we know, the cure said:

”I will remain here, little one, to offer up a prayer to the holy women; you can go on alone.”

But Livette, without replying, knelt devoutly beside the cure for an instant, before the relics.

The relics were there, behind the ropes coiled about the capstan, by means of which they were lowered into the church, as the little jug from which the lips of the faithful drank so eagerly was lowered into the miraculous well below;--there they were, on the edge of the opening through which they were launched into s.p.a.ce.

Through this window-like opening into the body of the church Livette could see the chairs systematically arranged below, and, higher up, the galleries, the pulpit, and the pictures--all well-nigh hidden in the dark shadow, intersected by two rays of light that darted in, like arrows, through the narrow loopholes.

Away down, below the gallery at the rear, opposite where she stood, the c.h.i.n.ks in the great square door were marked like fine lines of fire by the suns.h.i.+ne without.

She gazed for a long moment at the blessed shrines, and conjured them to turn aside the evil spell that she could feel about her.

And, do what she would, as she gazed at the shrines, which had the appearance of two coffins laid side by side and welded together, Livette was conscious that her thoughts became more melancholy than ever. Had she not seen, year after year, some poor, infirm wretch in despair lie at full length on cus.h.i.+ons in the acute angle formed by the two lids of the double coffin? And how many of them had been cured? One in fifty thousand, and only at long intervals?

And yet, what scores of votive offerings that lofty chapel held,--pictures, commemorative marble tablets, crutches, guns with shattered barrels, and small boats presented by sailors saved after s.h.i.+pwreck! Aye, but in how many years have the miracles been performed of which these offerings are the tokens?--One shudders to think how many.

And Livette, well content to divert her thoughts from such painful subjects, left Monsieur le cure at his prayers, and went up on the roof of the church.

The bright glare of the sky, bursting suddenly upon her, dazzled her.