M. Rodolph, how kind you have been to me!"
"In what way? I bought this farm; in time of your prosperity you were not idle, and now you have become my manager here, where—thanks to your excellent superintendence, intelligence, and activity—this establishment produces me—"
"Produces you, my lord?" said Madame Georges, interrupting Rodolph; "why, all the returns are employed, not only in ameliorating the condition of the labourers, who consider the occupation on this model farm as a great favour, but, moreover, to succour all the needy in the district; through the mediation of our good Abbé Laporte—"
"Ah, the dear abbé!" said Rodolph, desirous of escaping the praise of Madame Georges; "have you had the kindness to inform him of my arrival? I wish to recommend my protégée to him. He has had my letter?"
"Mr. Murphy gave it to him when he came this morning."
"In that letter I told our good curé, in a few words, the history of this poor girl. I was not sure that I should be able to come to-day myself, and if not, then Murphy would have conducted Marie—"
A labourer of the farm interrupted this conversation, which had been carried on in the garden.
"Madame, M. le Curé is waiting for you."
"Are the post-horses arrived, my lad?" inquired Rodolph.
"Yes, M. Rodolph; and they are putting to." And the man left the garden.
Madame Georges, the curé, and the inhabitants of the farm only knew Fleur-de-Marie's protector as M. Rodolph. Murphy's discretion was faultless; and although when in private he was very precise in "my-lording" Rodolph, yet before strangers he was very careful not to address him otherwise than as M. Rodolph.
"I forgot to mention, my dear Madame Georges," said Rodolph, when he returned to the house, "that Marie has, I fear, very weak lungs—privations and misery have tried her health. This morning early I was struck with the pallor of her countenance, although her cheeks were of a deep rose colour; her eyes, too, seem to me to have a brilliancy which betokens a feverish system. Great care must be taken of her."
"Rely on me, M. Rodolph; but, thank God! there is nothing serious to apprehend. At her age, in the country, with pure air, rest, and quiet, she will soon be quite restored."
"I hope so; but I will not trust to your country doctors. I will desire Murphy to bring here my medical man—a negro—a very skilful person, who will tell you the best regimen to pursue. You must send me news of Marie very often. Some time hence, when she shall be better, and more at ease, we will talk about her future life; perhaps it would be best that she always remained with you, if you were pleased with her."
"I should like it greatly, M. Rodolph; she would supply the place of the child I have lost, and must for ever bewail."
"Let us still hope for you and for her."
At the moment when Rodolph and Madame Georges approached the farm, Murphy and Marie also entered. The worthy gentleman let go the arm of Goualeuse, and said to Rodolph in a low voice, and with an air of some confusion:
"This girl has bewitched me; I really do not know which interests me most, she or Madame Georges. I was a brute—a beast!"
"I knew, old Murphy, that you would do justice to my protégée," said Rodolph, smiling, and shaking hands with the squire.
Madame Georges, leaning on Marie's arm, entered with her into a small room on the ground floor, where the Abbé Laporte was waiting. Murphy went away, to see all ready for their departure. Madame Georges, Marie, Rodolph, and the curé remained together.
Plain, but very comfortable, this small apartment was fitted up with green hangings, like the rest of the house, as had been exactly described to Goualeuse by Rodolph. A thick carpet covered the floor, a good fire burnt in the grate, and two large nosegays of daisies of all colours, placed in two crystal vases, shed their agreeable odour throughout the room. Through the windows, with their green blinds, which were half opened, was to be seen the meadow, the little stream, and, beyond it, the bank planted with chestnut-trees.
The Abbé Laporte, who was seated near the fireplace, was upwards of eighty years of age, and had, ever since the last days of the Revolution, done duty in this small parish. Nothing can be imagined more venerable than his aged, withered, and somewhat melancholy countenance, shaded by long white locks, which fell on the collar of his black cassock, which was pieced in more places than one; the abbé liked better, as they said, to clothe one or two poor children in good warm broadcloth, than faire le muguet; that is, to wear his cassocks less than two or three years. The good abbé was so old, so very old, that his hands trembled continually, and when he occasionally lifted them up, when speaking, it might have been supposed that he was giving a benediction.
"M. l'Abbé," said Rodolph, respectfully, "Madame Georges has undertaken the guardianship of this young girl, for whom I also beg your kindness."
"She is entitled to it, sir, like all who come to us. The mercy of God is inexhaustible, my dear child, and he has evinced it in not abandoning you in most severe trials. I know all." And he took the hand of Marie in his own withered and trembling palms. "The generous man who has saved you has realised the words of Holy Writ, 'The Lord is near to all those who call upon him; he will fulfil the desire of those who fear him; he will hear their cries, and he will save them.' Now deserve his bounty by your conduct, and you will always find one ready to encourage and sustain you in the good path on which you have entered. You will have in Madame Georges a constant example, in me a careful adviser. The Lord will finish his work."
"And I will pray to him for those who have had compassion on me and have led me to him, father," said La Goualeuse, throwing herself on her knees before the priest. Her emotion overcame her; her sobs almost choked her. Madame Georges, Rodolph, and the abbé were all deeply affected.
"Rise, my dear child," said the curé; "you will soon deserve absolution from those serious faults of which you have rather been the victim than the criminal; for, in the words of the prophet, 'The Lord raises up all those who are ready to fall, and elevates those who are oppressed.'"
Murphy, at this moment, opened the door.
"M. Rodolph," he said, "the horses are ready."
"Adieu, father! adieu, Madame Georges! I commend your child to your care—our child, I should say. Farewell, Marie; I will soon come and see you again."
The venerable pastor, leaning on the arms of Madame Georges and La Goualeuse, who supported his tottering steps, left the room to see Rodolph depart.
The last rays of the sun shed their light on this interesting yet sad group:
An old priest, the symbol of charity, pardon, and everlasting hope; a female, overwhelmed by every grief that can distress a wife and mother; a young girl, hardly out of her infancy, and but recently thrown into an abyss of vice through misery and the close contact with crime.
Rodolph got into the carriage, Murphy took his place by his side, and the horses set off at speed.
CHAPTER XII.
THE RENDEZVOUS.
The
