The grandmother tells her in vain--"My child, it is false!" She does not listen: there is none but her father can resolve her doubts, and prove to her that it is not true; but no one knows his place of abode; she is alone--she is terrified--oh! so terrified, that she believes it.

"What a change!" she cries. "I who, but now, was so happy--I, who was Queen of the Meadows and could command all--I, for whom every youth would have gone barefooted amongst a nest of serpents--to be contemned, avoided, the terror of the country! And Pascal--he also flies me, as if I were a pest: yet I pitied him in his wretchedness; perhaps he has no pity to bestow on me."

It was not so; and she has yet some comfort in her misery: she learns that Pascal is her defender: this is a balm to her wounded spirit; and, as her only relief, she thinks of him often. Suddenly she hears a cry; she flies to her grandmother, who has just waked from sleep: "The fire is not here; the walls do not burn! Oh G.o.d, what a mercy!"

"What were you dreaming, dear grandmother--answer me--what is it?"

"Unfortunate girl! I dreamt it was night; brutal men came to our house, and set it on fire. You cried; you exerted yourself to save me, but you could not, and we both were burnt. Oh, I have suffered much! come to my arms! let me embrace my child!"

And the aged woman strained her in her withered arms, and pressed her tenderly to her heart, her white hair mingling with the golden ringlets of Franconnette. "Dearest," said she, "your mother, the day of her marriage, came from the castle a bride; her dower came from thence; and thus we are not rich from the demon; every one must know that. It is true that while you were an infant, my angel, and yet in the cradle, we heard every night a strange noise, and we found you always out of the cradle; and on the edge of your little bed three drops of blood appeared; but we said a prayer, and they disappeared; does not this prove that you are not sold to the evil one? Some envious person has invented this. Be of good cheer, and do not weep like a child; you are more lovely than ever: show yourself again: let your beauty once more appear. Those who hide from envy give the wicked more s.p.a.ce. Besides, Marcel still loves you; he has sent secretly to say he is your's when you will--you love him not! Marcel will be your protector; I am too old to guard you. Hearken! to-morrow is Easter-day; go to ma.s.s, and pray more fervently than of late; take some of the blessed bread, and sign yourself with the cross. I am certain that G.o.d will restore your lost happiness, and will prove, by your countenance, that He has not erased you from the number of those He calls his own."

The hope she had conjured up irradiated the face of the poor woman; her child hung round her neck, and promised to do her bidding; and peace was restored for a while to the little white cottage.

The next day, when the Hallelujah was ringing from the bells of St. Pe, great was the astonishment of all to behold Franconnette kneeling with her chaplet in the church,--her eyes cast down in prayer.

Poor girl! well might she pray to be spared; there was not a young woman who spared her as she pa.s.sed: the less so, that Marcel and Pascal appeared to feel pity for her. They were very cruel to her; not one would remain near; so that she found herself, at last, kneeling alone in the midst of a wide circle, like one condemned who has a mark of shame on his forehead. Her mortification is not yet complete, for the uncle of Marcel--the churchwarden, who wears a vest of violet with large skirts--the tall man who offers the blessed bread at Easter--pa.s.ses on when she puts out her hand to take her portion, and refuses to allow her to share the heavenly meal.

This was terrible! She believes that G.o.d has really abandoned her, and would drive her from His temple; she trembles, and sinks back nearly fainting; but some one advances--it is he who asks to-day for the offerings; it is Pascal, who had never quitted her with his looks, who had seen the meaning glance which pa.s.sed between the uncle and nephew--he advances softly, and taking from the shining plate that part of the bread which is crowned with a garland of choice flowers, presents it to Franconnette.

What a moment of delicious joy to her! Her blood runs free again; she feels no longer frozen to stone; her soul had trembled; but it seems as if the bread of the living G.o.d, as she touched it, had restored her life. But why is her cheek so covered with blushes? It is because the Angel of Love had, with his breath, drawn forth the flame that slept in her heart; it is that a feeling, new, strange, subtle, like fire, sweet as honey, rises in her soul, and makes her bosom beat. Oh! it is that she lives with another life. Now, she knows herself; she feels what she really is: now she understands the magic of love. The world--the priest--all disappears; in the temple of the Lord there is but a human creature she beholds--the man she loves--the man to whom she had faltered her thanks.

Now, let us quit all the envy and jealousy that might be seen exhibited on the way-side from St. Pe, and the triple scandal of cruel tongues; let us follow Franconnette, who carries home to her grandmother the blessed bread crowned with its garland, and who, having given it into her hands, retires to her chamber _alone with her love_!

First drop of dew in the time of drought, first ray of sun-light in winter, thou art not more welcome to the bosom of the parched earth in sadness, than this first flame of affection to the awakened heart of the tender girl! Happy--overwhelmed--she forgets herself, and, by degrees, gives up all her being to the new, rapturous delight of loving!

Then, far from the noise of evil tongues, she did what we all do; she dreamt with unclosed eyes, and without stone or implements she built herself a little castle, where, with Pascal, all was shining, all was brilliant, all was radiant with happiness. Oh! the sage is right--the soul in affliction loves the strongest!

She gave herself up entirely to her love; she feels she loves for ever, and all in nature seems to smile for her. But the honey of love too soon becomes bitter. Suddenly, she recollects herself--she shudders--she becomes as if frozen. At the stroke of a fearful thought, all her little castle is demolished. Alas! wretched girl, she dreamt of love, and love is forbidden to her. Did not the sorcerer say she was sold to the evil one, and that man bold enough to seek her would find only death in the nuptial chamber? She! must she behold Pascal dead before her?

Mercy, oh G.o.d! oh G.o.d, pity!

And, bathed in tears, the poor child fell on her knees before an image of the Virgin.

"Holy Virgin," said she, "without thy aid I am lost; for I love deeply.

I have no parents, and they say I am sold to the demon. Oh, take pity on me! save me, if it be true: and if it is but the saying of the wicked, let my soul know the truth; and when I offer thee my taper at the altar of Notre Dame, prove to me that my prayer is accepted."

A short prayer, when it is sincere, soon mounts to heaven. She felt certain that she was heard; but she thought constantly of her project, though at times she shuddered, and fear rendered her mute; still hope would come like a lightning flash in the night, and satisfy her heart.

PART IV.

At length the day arrived so feared and so desired. At day-break long lines of young girls, all in white, extended in all directions, and advanced to the sound of the bells; and Notre Dame, in the midst of a cloud of perfume, proudly looked down on three hamlets in one.

What censers! what crosses! what nosegays! what tapers! what banners!

what pictures! Then come all Puymirol, Artigues, Astafort, Lusignan, Cardonnet, Saint Cirq, Brax, Roquefort; but those of Roquefort, this year, are the first--the most numerous: and to see them in particular the curious hastened forward, for everywhere, in all places, the story of the young girl sold to the demon spread, and it is known that to-day she comes to pray to the Virgin to protect her.

Her misfortune has inspired pity amongst them; every one looks at her and laments; they trust that a miracle will be operated in her favour, and that the Virgin will save her. She sees the feeling that she has inspired, and rejoices; her hope becomes stronger; "the voice of the people is the voice of G.o.d."

Oh, how her heart beats as she enters the church! everywhere within the walls are pictures of the Virgin's mercy and indulgence; mothers in grief, young people in affliction, girls without parents, women without children--all are kneeling with tapers before the image of the Mother of heaven, which an aged priest in his robes allows to touch their lips, and afterwards blesses them.

No sign of ill has occurred, and they believe; all, as they rise, depart with a happy hope, and Franconnette feels the same, particularly when she sees Pascal praying devoutly; then she has courage to look the priest in the face. It appears as if love, music, the lights, the incense--all was united to a.s.sure her of pardon.

"Pardon! pardon!" murmured she, "oh, if that were mine! and Pascal"--

She lighted her taper in order, and, the light and her bouquet in her hand, she took her place. Every one, from compa.s.sion, made way that she might kneel the foremost. The silence is breathless; there is neither movement nor gesture; all eyes are turned on her and on the priest; he takes the sacred image, and holds it forth to her; but scarcely has it touched the lips of the orphan when a loud peal of thunder shakes the church, and rolls away in the distance; her taper is extinguished, and three of those on the altar!

Her taper is extinct--her prayer rejected--she is accursed!

Oh, G.o.d! it is, then, indeed true! she has been dedicated to the evil one, and is abandoned of Heaven!

A murmur of terror spread through the crowd; and when the unfortunate girl rose, pale and wild and breathless with horror, all drew back, shuddering, and let her pa.s.s. The thunder-clap had begun the storm; fearfully it burst afterwards over Roquefort; the belfry of St. Pierre was destroyed, and the hail driving over the country, swept all away but those who wept to see the ravage.

And the pilgrims returned, all ready to relate the disaster they had seen; they returned all--except one--and sang _Ora pro n.o.bis_.

Then, to cross the perilous waters, Agen did not possess as now--to make other towns jealous--three great bridges, as though it were a royal town. Two simple barks, urged by two oars, carried persons from one side to the other; but scarcely have they reached the opposite sh.o.r.e, and formed themselves in lines, than the news of the terrible event reaches them. At first, they scarcely credit its extent; but when they advance, and behold the vines and the fields desolated, then they tremble and are seized with despair, and cries of "Misery!" and "Misfortune!" rend the air.

Suddenly a voice exclaims, "Franconnette is saved while we are ruined!"

the word acts like a spark to gunpowder.

"The wretch!--drive her out!--she brings us evil--it is true--she is the cause of all--she may do us more harm!"

And the crowd clamoured louder and grew more furious. One cried, "Let us drive her from us! cursed as she is, let her burn in flames like the _Huguenot_, her father!"

The coldest became infuriated: "Let her be driven forth!" cried all.

To see them thus enraged, with flaming eyes, clenched hands and teeth, it seemed as if h.e.l.l inspired them, and that its influence came with the breeze of night, and breathed into their veins the venom of fury.

Where was Franconnette? alas! in her cottage, half-dead--cold as marble!

holding firmly in her tightened and convulsive grasp the faded wreath given her by Pascal.

"Poor garland!" said she; "when I received you from him your perfume told of happiness, and I inhaled it; relic of love! I bore you in my bosom, where you soon faded like my vain dreams. Dear Pascal, farewell!

my torn heart weeps to resign thee, but I must say adieu for ever! I was born in an evil hour; and, to save thee from my influence, I must conceal my love. Yet I feel this day thou art dearer than ever; I love with an affection never to be extinguished--with a devotion which is bliss or death on earth; but death is nothing to me if it could save thee!"

"Why do you moan thus, Franconnette?" cried out her grandmother; "you told me, with a cheerful air, that the Virgin had received your offering and you were content; yet I hear you sob like a soul in pain; you deceive me, something has happened to you to-day."

"Oh, no; be content, grandmother; I am happy--very happy."

"'Tis well, my love; for your sorrow wrings my heart; to-day again I pa.s.sed some fearful hours; this dream of fire recurs so often in spite of myself; and the storms alarm me; hark! I tremble at every sound."

What cries are those so near and so loud? "Fire them! burn them! let them burn together!" A flash bursts through the old shutters; Franconnette rushes to the cas.e.m.e.nt. Great Heaven! she sees the rick on fire, and a furious mob howling outside.

"We must drive them out--the old hag and the young one; both have bewitched us!--Hence! child of perdition! hence, or burn in thy den!"

Franconnette on her knees, with streaming eyes, exclaims, "Oh, pity for my poor old grandmother--do not kill her!"

But the deluded populace, more confirmed than ever, by her haggard looks, that she is possessed, howl louder still--"Away with her!" and on they rush, brandishing flaming brands.

"Hold--hold!" cried a voice, and Pascal sprang amongst them. "Cowards!

would you murder two defenceless women! would you burn their dwelling, as if they had not suffered enough--tigers, that you are--already the walls are hot!"