Passe Rose

XXIII.

THE king had risen from table, and entered his cabinet.

One might have known this from the murmur of voices in the dining-hall, indicating that the officers of the palace had succeeded their royal master at table ; for when the king was eating, the silence of the room was broken only by those who served, and by the voice of the clerk on the estrade, reading from the Frankish chronicles or the works of the saints. One might have known it also from the demeanor of those who crossed the court without. The boldest inmate of the palace, seeing the curtain drawn aside from the circular window over the south portal, hurried about his business with the conscious air of one who is observed ; for this window was like the lens of a telescope, and this curtain like the cap which covers the lens. When the curtain was drawn aside, one knew the king’s eye was there.

A single door, covered by a tapestry sown with lions and bordered with marigolds, gave access to the room from the royal sleeping-chamber. A chair Standing habitually in the embrasure of the window, a stool and reading-desk near the chair, a wooden bench beside the fireplace, and two cushions of silk on the floor were its only furniture. Smoke had darkened the rafters overhead, their gilded edges and the rosettes painted in orange on the pale sea-green of the intervening spaces being scarcely visible. A single window, too, lighted the room ; but this window redeemed it. Gloomy and dark within as the tube of the telescope, through this its lens one saw, below, the court ; above, beyond the roofs, a green circle of wooded hills; and, higher still, the heaven-fields, which the king loved to scan at night, when the watchman cried the hours to the stars.

Spread open upon the reading-desk lay the king’s favorite book, the City of God, of St. Augustine, from which a clerk was reading aloud in slow, monotonous tones, glancing between the periods from the immobile figure in the chair to a young girl, who, seated on the cushion at its feet, caught every word as it fell from his lips. A tunic of white silk shot with silver threads, which glistened like frost, reached to her feet, and descended in rolls to the wrists, where it ended in broad bands of fine pearls. A like band terminated the garment at her throat ; and still another, narrower, but with larger pearls, spaced at equal intervals, confined a thin veil about the temples. This veil, covering the hair and shoulders, and embroidered with flowers of a lustrous white silk, sparkled in the sun, which, now nearly vertical, began to enter the window, creeping slowly up the carved pillars of the king’s chair to the crystal balls which terminated its arms. Her hands clasped about her knee, her eyes riveted upon the reader’s face, the young girl listened intently, unmindful of the king’s gaze, her whole attention absorbed by what she heard.

“ Who, indeed, can enumerate all the great grievances with which human society abounds in the misery of this mortal state ? Who can weigh them ? Hear how one of their comic writers makes one of his characters express the common feeling of all men in this matter : ’ I am married : this is one misery. Children are born to me: they are additional cares.’ What shall I say of the miseries of love, which Terence also recounts ? — ' slights, suspicions, quarrels.’ ”

Sighing at these words, as if they were her own utterance, the listener lifted her eyes to the king, and, seeing his clear, penetrating gaze fixed upon her, blushed, and turned her face to the window.

Her body was frail, and slender as a flower’s stem, and his rugged and robust, like a stout blade beaten into shape under the blows of a forging hammer ; the eyes of each were great and gray, but hers soft as a falcon in mew, and his keen as a hawk trussing; her skin, softer than the tissue of her silken garment, was scarcely less white, and his, bronzed by many winds and suns, was darker than the brown mustache which, thick and strong like the brows and hair, overshadowed the firm lines of the mouth. Where the subtle likeness between the two hid were hard to say, though it struck the shallowest observer at a glance.

His hands resting on the crystal balls, the king watched the averted face, while the voice of the reader pursued its even way: —

“ Who ought to be, or who are, more friendly than those who live under the same roof ? And yet, who can rely even upon this friendship, seeing that secret treachery has often destroyed it, producing enmity even more hitter than the amity was sweet ” —

“ Turn over some pages,” said the clear voice of the king. It was scarcely four years since the conspiracy of his first-born.

Startled by this interruption, the clerk hastened to obey, fumbling the leaves of the manuscript between his thick fingers, and casting furtive glances from its yellow pages to the king, — that king so imposing to the historian, the creator rather than the product of an epoch, greater in authentic annals than in the epics to which his greatness gave rise, a sun shining between the two nights of barbarism and feudality.

At the sound of the king’s voice, the young girl had looked up quickly, but the eyes she sought were far away upon the hills. Of what was he thinking ? Of that nest of Bavarian hate and perfidy mothered by Luitherg, who had never forgotten his insult to her race in the divorce of her sister and the overthrow of the house of Lombardy ? But this nest of conspiracy had been destroyed, and its inmates had followed the Lombard kings and the dukes of Aquitania into the tomb of the monastery. Did he hear beyond those hills, from the heart of Germany, the sullen murmur of moving peoples ? But this murmur was hushed. One by one his environing enemies, Saxon, Tartar, and Slav on the north and east, Lombard, Saracen, and Aquitanian on the south and west, holding France as in the jaws of a vise, had been reduced to vassalage. The Saxon dream of independence was over, and their tireless leader, discouraged at last by reverses, had been baptized at Attigny. Thrice conquered, the Huns lay powerless between the newly constituted duchies of Frioul and Bavaria. Not in vain had the Holy Pontiff appealed to the Frankish monarch ; he feared no longer to see the Saracen under the walls of Rome, or the galleys of Irene in the Bay of Tarentum. Irene herself trembled in her palace of Byzantium ; for the tread of Frankish horsemen was heard on the banks of the Save, and terror reigned in Thrace and Macedonia.

Although the clerk, having discovered a more agreeable chapter, continued tranquilly his reading, the king was apparently not listening. Did he see beyond those hills the shadows of great disasters yet below the horizon ? But the Western Church and State were unifying, their Eastern rivals disintegrating. If this church was still blinded by superstition, if this monarchy was still weighted by abuses, yet decay had given place to organization, sterility to life ; if this kingdom was yet to be torn in fragments, its hitherto fluctuating boundaries had become fixed. The sun rose on a world of hope. The prophetic dream of the Thuringian Bazine, mother of Clovis, on the night, of her nuptials, had been fulfilled,—her race had descended into the cloister, then the sepulchre of incompetency and fallen greatness ; and now was being accomplished that other prophecy, of Strabo, who foresaw in Gaul the seat of a great empire.

Ordinarily the king observed with interest what was passing in the court below, now filling with the motley concourse of strangers come to witness the approaching fêetes. The vast buildings surrounding the palace, erected for the accommodation of those who for any cause of interest or shelter flocked to the royal residence, overflowed with visitors from every part of the kingdom, curious to see the booty and captives which the young king of Italy brought his father. Never had the city swarmed with so many people, never had so many illustrious personages gathered in the capital of the Western world. Neustrian and Austrasian lords, who for so long had mutually despised each other, the one for his effeminacy, the other for his barbarism. now united under a single sway, mingled freely with polished Southern nobles and blunt warriors from provinces beyond the Rhine. The most extravagant stories of the riches of the ring, plundered by the victorious Pepin, circulated from mouth to mouth ; descriptions of the Hunnish captives, their savage appearance, braided locks, and dress of furs, were on every tongue. One could scarcely wait to see these spoils of conquest, to gloat over these haughty prisoners. Tables were being placed in the streets, before the doors of the houses ; the buildings were being decorated with colored cloths ; and from the lofty poles erected between the palace and the gate of Colonia were to be displayed enormous paintings, representing the history of the world from the temptation of Paradise to the present time. Already workmen were preparing in the great square the tribunes from which the court was to witness the entry, and trenchers at which the army was to feast by torchlight after the Te Deum in the basilica of the Mother of God. These streets were soon to be strewn with flowers, these tables to be covered with chased dishes filled with meats and running with wine, this square to resound with shouts of rejoicing; and every eye was beginning to glitter with the feverish light of impatience and expectation.

So many people circulated about the gate and filled the court that none gave heed to a girl, who, pressing through this concourse of curious loiterers, made her way to the door under the south gallery, where the guards with difficulty prevented the crowd from invading the palace itself. She had dismounted from her horse in the street, and, guided by the exclamations and fragmentary sentences of those about her, advanced resolutely to the bronze gates, where the crowd was densest. These gates opened upon the spacious stairway leading from the gallery to the audience-chamber.

“ They say the king is there,” said one, pointing to the window above.

“ Is it true the army is but a day’s march — Seigneur! take thine elbows from my ribs ! exclaimed another to his neighbor, who was forcing his way excitedly towards the soldier guarding the door.

“ Let him pass ! ” cried a third, holding back. “ I heard him tell an officer that his wife was lost in the press.”

Passe Rose turned, and saw Werdric. He also recognized her, but at the same moment a cry arose from behind, and the surge of the crowd swept them asunder. This cry was due to the opening of the gates leading to the stables, whence a troop of horse issued into the court, already thronged. It was the royal guard going out to meet the young king, on the road to Colonia. Beset by the swaying mass and excited by the tumult, the horses threatened to trample those nearest them underfoot, and their leader called to those about the gates to clear a passage with their lances. Seeing the attention of all diverted and the bronze doors momentarily deserted. Passe Rose pushed the heavy panel far enough to slip within, and without pause or deliberation ran up the broad stairs she saw before her. At their summit extended a long corridor, down which she advanced hurriedly, till the clamor of many voices and the metallic ring of dishes caused her to retreat. Passing thus quickly from the noise and light without into the gloom and solitude within, she heard every heart-beat, and felt her courage desert her. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she began to run, and at the first door she met glided behind its tapestry screen. This door gave access to the great hall where the noble youth of the kingdom assembled to listen to the teachings of the school of the palace, and adjoined the private apartments of the king. Passe Rose had no sooner lifted the curtain than she saw a page, who, sitting on the floor, at the entrance of the passage to the king’s chamber, was amusing himself with a parchment, from which hung a multitude of tasseled strings. Seeing that she was observed, she went forward timidly, gaining courage, however, at sight of the pretty face of the boy. The latter, whose duty it was to summon the chaplain when the king had finished his reading, occupying himself with no business but his own, evinced only a lively curiosity in the young girl, whose presence promised to relieve the tedium of his waiting. Passe Rose, on her side, having no fear of a boy, approached with all the unconcern she could affect, smiling, her eyes fixed upon the silken fringe, but alert for every sound.

“ What hast thou there ? ” she asked, stooping over the parchment in the boy’s hands.

“ The Oracle of Truth,” he replied, looking up into her face.

“ The Oracle ? ” whispered Passe Rose, glancing sidewise through the doorway. “ Pray what is that ? ”

“ Choose one of these strings,” said the boy. Passe Rose reached out her hand. " Nay, shut thine eyes, then choose, and I will tell thee what will befall.”

“ Canst thou read ? ” asked Passe Rose, observing the characters on the parchment.

“ Nay, but I know the answers by heart. This one with the blue stringreads thus : ' Beware: after honey, gall! ’ But choose; only close thine eyes.”

Forgetting for the moment her purpose, and fascinated by the mysterious parchment, Passe Rose shut her eyes, and, first signing herself, touched one of its pendent strings. “ What is it ? she asked, opening her eyes and bending forward with anxiety.

The boy clapped his hands, laughing. “ The yellow, the yellow ! What luck ! See ! ” pointing with his finger, — “ ‘ A great happiness is on its way to thee.’ ”

Passe Rose stood up, her eyes dilating, her bosom swelling. She could not speak. This great hall was not large enough for her to breathe in. Stooping quickly, she kissed the boy’s face, then disappeared in the corridor which led to the chamber of the king.

“ Ho ! Knowest thou not he is within ? ” called the page. Passe Rose neither paused nor turned. “ Ho, I tell thee ! ” he called again, springing to his feet. But Passe Rose had already disappeared. “ Seigneur!” cried the boy, terrified by such audacity, and running across the hall to tell the chief of the pages that a strange girl had entered the sleeping-chamber of the king.

On emerging from the obscurity of the passage-way into the light, Passe Rose was still smiling. She paused a moment on the threshold of the chamber, then stepped upon its mosaic floor, and stood still again. The room was empty, yet, as when gazing at the altar in the chapel of Immaburg, sure of some invisible presence, she searched its length and breadth, her heart heating fast with expectation and her members numb with awe. Before her was the king’s bed, low and wide, with its ermine cover and pillows of broidered silk, partly concealed by curtains hung from swinging rods. On the floor beside it stretched the red skin of a fox, and upon the table stood the king’s cup and the candelabrum, whose six candles of wax indicated the hour of the day; for the king had not yet received the famous brass water-clock, damaskeened with gold, presented to him by the Caliph Aroun-al-Raschid, whose falling balls sounded the hours night and day. Three of these candles were already consumed; it would therefore be more than an hour before the king would send for his chaplain. From the bed Passe Rose’s eyes followed the tapestry which hid the wall to the height of her shoulders, and above which a carved shelf made the circuit of the apartment. Behind the objects upon this shelf the walls displayed flowers, painted in red and yellow and other colors, of such marvelous forms and hues that Passe Rose could think of nothing but the beautiful fields of Paradise. Moreover, above the door opposite her she saw an image of the blessed St. Martin, who divided his cloak with a beggar; and the face of this image, rudely carved though it was, certainly smiled upon her, while its lips, albeit of wood, moved visibly, as if saying, “ A great happiness is on its way to thee.” Persuaded that the saint really addressed her, she approached, her two hands crossed upon her bosom, when she perceived that the sounds came from within the door, and suddenly, —

“ Turn over some pages.” said a clear voice, as it were at her very side.

She started back, but catching sight again of the encouraging countenance of the saint, murmured a quick prayer, and advancing to the door laid her ear close to the golden lions of the tapestry. Some one was speaking. She held her breath, and listened.

“ But now as regards loftiness of place, it is altogether ridiculous to be so influenced by the fact that the demons inhabit the air, and we the earth, as to think that on that account they are to be put before us ; for in this way we put all the birds before ourselves. But the birds, when they are weary with flying, or require to repair their bodies with food, come back to the earth to rest or to feed, which the demons, they say, do not. Are they therefore inclined to say that the birds are superior to us, and the demons superior to the birds ? But if it be madness to think so, there is no reason why we should think that, on account of their inhabiting a loftier element, the demons have a claim to our religious submission.”

This passage excited in Passe Rose so lively an interest that she forgot everything. Her face flushed redder than the fabric next her cheek, and in her eagerness to catch every word she parted the fringe, revealing to the reader a pair of dark eyes, which glistened like dewdrops among the silk marigolds of the tapestry. Disconcerted by this apparition, the clerk paused.

“ Read on,” said the king sharply.

The clerk would have obeyed, but the place was lost; in vain did he seek it with his finger, for he could not wrest his eyes from the girl’s face; so that the king, following his gaze, and turning quickly, discovered Passe Rose standing terrified in the doorway.

Whether because his face inspired confidence (for in the presence of some we are at our best, as in that of others every good quality deserts us without reason), or whether because her courage rose when put to the proof, no sooner did the king’s eye meet hers than her terror left her, and with a firm step she advanced into the room, rendering gase for gaze. She had taken no thought of what she should say, but, going in, she remembered how, when a little girl dancing before Queen Hildegarde at the Easter fêtes, a young chamberlain came with a message, and, bending upon one knee, said, “ In the name of God, who suffered for us, I salute you ; ” and how the queen made answer, “ In the name of God, who was our ransom, hail.” These fine words came back to her and were on her lips as she approached, when, just beyond the king’s chair, she saw Agnes of Solier, and Stopped, mute and staring. A hundred times the space in which Passe Rose stood thus trembling like a tense bowstring would not suffice to tell all she felt and saw in that moment of silence. though in reality it was but the length of two breaths. All which before had seemed sure and easy became suddenly hopeless and of no avail, while every evil fear she had once lightly set aside was uppermost. How could she contend with a king’s daughter ? She had killed the queen’s favorite ! What if, as the prior had said, the papers were of other matters ? Who would then believe her ? here were her witnesses ? It was perhaps a dream, and she made a little movement of the fingers, to feel whether the wounds caused by the Saxon’s knife were still there ; seeing at the same time the white hands of Agnes of Solier and her own, brown with toil and stained with blood. A confused recollection of what the clerk had read crossed her mind. “ Demon of hell,” whispered a voice in her ear, “ the abbot, the prior, the monk, will swear to it, and the captain also, whom thou hast possessed. “ Aye, whom I possess,” she replied ; and she heard the page saying to her, “ A great happiness is on its way to thee.”She repeated the words softly, “ A great happiness, a great happiness,” as if they could conjure away her fears, clinging with her eyes to the king, and resisting with all her strength the challenging gaze of Agnes of Solier. The latter, no less surprised than Passe Rose, stared back in wonder.

“ Who art thou, and what dost thou wish ? asked the king, astonished at her sudden appearance and agitated face.

At the sound of his voice, the words broke like a torrent from Passe Rose’s lips: “ This one I found by the fishponds, ” — she had thrust the papers in his hand,— " and this the Saxon gave the monk for the prior. Read, read !" and drawing the cord through the wax seal with her trembling fingers, she spread the parchment on his knee. " I was in the tower; there came two, the prior and another, — then the Saxon maid who sat at supper at Immaburg.

I heard what they said. Look ! there are the prints of her knife ! The knife was for thee.”

“ Peace ! ” exclaimed the king, rising to his feet, and crushing the parchment in his hand. It was a cry rather than a command, for, incoherent as were the words he heard, they were sharper than any knife to his pride. He stood for a moment in doubt, and then, as if convinced by the girl’s fearless manner, sank back into his chair, opening the papers slowly, and fixing from time to time, as he read, a searching look upon Passe Rose. Her heart was beating violently, but her fear was over, and she watched the king’s face boldly. Every trace of anger and distress had fallen from it, as a mantle falls from the shoulder to the ground. He neither started nor frowned, as she had thought to see him do ; nevertheless, she was content, for his eyes were good to look at, and she felt the happiness of which she had been foretold running, as the tide runs in the sea-meadows, to her finger-tips. She wished to laugh aloud, to dance, to sing, and at the same time tears of which she could give no account dimmed her vision, causing the garnet in the clasp of the king’s cloak to swell and glisten like a bubble of blood. She heard the clerk closing his book and retiring softly behind her, but when the king turned to Agnes of Solier with a sign that she should go also, Passe Rose reached out her hand.

“ I pray thee let this lady listen,”she said entreatingly.

Surprised beyond measure, the king knit his brow, looking from Passe Rose’s eager face to the flushed countenance of Agnes of Solier, who had risen to her feet, and stood beside his chair, her hand resting upon his.

“ Speak on,” he said, feeling the hand trembling upon his own.

Anxious lest his patience should be exhausted, divided in her mind as to what was trivial and what important, Passe Rose began, — relating her meeting with Gui of Tours in the wood of Hesbaye, her adventure in the abbey and consultation with the sorceress (though this were a forbidden thing), and then her return to the abbey at midnight to tell Friedgis what the gospels had said, and how the captain had promised to seek the Saxon maid in the household of the king. " It was going down the hill after the prior was gone that I found the paper,” she said, pointing to the parchment, " for the moon came up while I was hid.”

So candid was her speech and so eager her haste that the king listened in silent wonder, though he saw her oft bewildered between two stories, one for him and one for Agnes of Solier. But here she paused, and a sob rose in her throat.

“ Father and mother have I none,” she continued, “ because of the pest; and they being dead, I went wherever the wind blew, with dancing-girls and jugglers, — it was then I danced at Chasseneuil, before Queen Hildegarde, — and afterwards with merchants. But I parted from these at the fair of St. Denis because of a certain Greek.” — here Passe Rose looked full at Agnes of Solier; " for love is like God’s winds, coming at no man’s bidding and dispelled by no command, except it be the Christ’s, as told in the gospels. Afterwards, till now,” —for the first time she hesitated, —" I lived with Werdric, the goldsmith of Maestricht, and his wife, Jeanne, till — till I came to Immaburg.”

“What brought thee to Immaburg ? ” interrupted Agnes of Solier quickly.

The question was rude, and Passe Rose grew hot and cold by turns. A defiant light flashed in her eyes, but she kept them fixed upon the king. “ If one should mock thee to thy face, what wouldst thou do ? ” she said, lip and voice quivering together.

“ By the Lord of heaven ! ” exclaimed the king, startled by this unexpected question, but liking well her boldness,

“ were I the stronger ” —

“Nay, the weaker.”

Perplexed, the king observed her in silence.

“ When I returned from the abbey,” continued Passe Rose in a hard voice, “ the night was far gone, and the goldsmith met me at the garden gate.

‘ Wanton ! ’ he said. For that reason,” looking at Agnes of Solier, “ I left my home, wandering two days in the wood of Hesbaye, and came to Immaburg, as thou sawest, not knowing where I was. There it was I first saw the Saxon maid. She came by stealth into the strangers’ hall, and gave these papers to the monk as he sat by the fire, bidding him deliver them to the prior. Why I took them from him I know not, except it were God’s will, for I thought no more of them till yesternight, being distraught at what the page told me.”

“ What did he tell thee ? ” asked Agnes of Solier.

“ That thou wert a king’s daughter, and betrothed to Gui of Tours.”

The king’s face flushed red, but Agnes of Solier, pale as the holy napkin, neither spoke nor stirred.

“ What happened at supper thou knowest,” continued Passe Rose.

“ But what happened afterwards I know not! ” cried Agnes of Solier, torn between her jealousy and her pride.

“ I am come to tell thee,” answered Passe Rose with dignity. “ When thou wert gone, I said to the captain, ‘ Though I were the meanest slave in the kingdom. what God hath given the king’s daughter he hath given to me, and I yield it to none except at his altar.’ With that I ran to the chapel to pray and seek counsel of the priest. But because in my anger I had cast down the image of the Virgin above my bed, God would not listen to me ; the priest at Immaburg is witness that he took away my senses, and when I got them back I was in the wagon on the high-road. Dost thou remember how the stream was swollen at the ford ? I was there, and while they sounded the water I heard the voices of women in the wagon next to mine. One said that the heart of the captain was plainly mine, and could not be had of me for all the gold of the Huns.”

“ Insolent! ” murmured Agnes of Solier, tightening her fingers on the king’s hand. But the king, chary of words, waited.

“Another,” pursued Passe Rose, “ replied that it were easier for a dancinggirl to give herself to a captain than for a king’s daughter to forget an injury. ‘ Mark well what I tell thee.’ she said : ‘ one hath his heart: the other will have his head.’ ‘ Liar ! ’ I said to myself. ‘ What a king’s daughter will do I know not, but what a dancing-girl can do I will show thee.' So, when the ford was passed, I cut a hole through the skins with my knife, and went mine own way.”

A gesture of surprise escaped the king, who had risen from his chair, and was pacing slowly to and fro between the door and the window. At this moment the troop was filing through the archway into the square, and the Gascon, followed by the prior, was opening the wicket gate leading to the room where the body of Rothilde lay.

It were idle to deny that Passe Rose was conscious of the greatness of her action, for even the angels serve God with pleasure ; and if it be that they rejoice over the sinner’s repentance, some echo, as it were, of this rejoicing is borne to the soul which doeth well, for its encouragement and satisfaction. Yet so little did Passe Rose think to win applause that she mistook the king’s gesture for a sign of impatience. “ I am coming to it fast, she said, pointing to the parchment, and hurrying on to tell how she hid in the sheepfold ; how Jeanne came, bereft of reason and without the power to know her own ; and all she saw and heard from the tower while Jeanne slept.

Not once during this recital did the king cease his walk or lift his eyes from the floor till Passe Rose told how Friedgis was slain: “ I heard a sword drawn, and the rustle of leaves underfoot; afterwards, from the wood, a cry — and then the Saxon maid said " —

She stopped short. The king stood before her, his brow knit as with pain, his face gloomy with suppressed passion. " Well, what said she ? ” he asked, fixing upon Passe Rose his piercing eye.

“ ' Bring me now thy Greek, and I will show him the way to the king’s bed.’ ”

The king drew himself up to his full height. For a moment he was silent, his eyes shining with points of flame. Then he struck his palms together, whispering a few words to the page who at this signal came in haste from the adjoining room, and, returning to the window, gazed thoughtfully into the court.

Passe Rose, motionless, stood speechless. It was one of those silences which one does not dare to break. " Continue,” said the king at length, in a calm voice.

“ When the Saxon was gone into the wood, the prior concerted with his companion how they should get the papers from the captain that night, by fair means or foul,” pursued Passe Rose, stealing a glance at Agnes of Solier. “ ' Ask her where this captain lies,’said the soldier. ' Nay,’replied the prior, ' it will alarm her. Hist! she comes.’ ” " Aye, she comes,” murmured the king, beckoning to Passe Rose. " See.”

Obeying his motion, she approached, holding her breath with the presentiment of impending shock. The throng had followed the troop into the square, and the court was empty. From the farther angle a litter, borne by soldiers, issued from the shadow of the gallery. Over the litter a cloth was spread, and on the cloth a cross glistened in the sun.

Passe Rose, leaning forward, drew a quick breath. " The Saxon ! ” she whispered.

“ Slain, yesternight, by the monk.”

“ By the monk ! ” gasped Passe Rose.

“ Yonder, in the square.”

Nay, it was I! ” she cried vehemently, grasping the king’s arm. “ Look, the marks of her knife! My mother spake in her dreams when the prior was gone. I laid my hand to her month, but it was too late. Before I could get to my knees, she” — pointing to the bier — " was on the stair. I caught the blade in my hand as her blow fell, and then we locked, without breath to speak, she above, and I below. God is my witness I had done her no harm but that I knew she or I must die, and die I would not till the captain was warned, for the prior’s words were in my ears. Time was lacking to pray, but I saw the stars, and strained leg and arm till her fingers gave way and ray throat was free. Then I stood up alone. — how it happened I know not, but I heard the waters splash, and once a cry.” She stopped, her bosom heaving, her eyes fixed upon the litter. " Jesu ! ” she murmured, her voice falling to a whisper, " it was I.”

The king regarded her in a stupor of wonder and admiration. He strode back and forth from wall to wall, looking now at Passe Rose, and now, uneasily, at Agnes of Solier, who. pale and speechless, stared back with eyes of stone. Suddenly, with an abrupt gesture, he stopped before Passe Rose.

“ If the King of heaven gave thee thy heart’s wish, what wouldst thou ask ? ”

“ The reason of my mother Jeanne,” said Passe Rose.

The king started. “ I will ask it this day in my prayers. And of me,” his voice trembling, “ what wouldst thou ? ”

“ To give me leave to go in peace to Maestricht, and then to send thither my mother, whom I left in the house by the gate at Frankenburg , for if she see me in the garden combing wool, in my own attire, her reason will return.”

“ Afterward,” said the king, a shadow of vexation passing over his face. Indeed, it were hard to say which was suitor to the other, for his voice faltered, and hers was firm and clear. “ That is not all. Afterward.” he repeated impatiently.

The color deepened on Passe Rose’s cheeks, she trembled violently, and, no longer able to support his gaze, she turned her shining eyes to Agnes of Solier, and threw herself at her feet.

“ By the Mother of God ! ” exclaimed the king, taking Agnes of Solier’s hand and seating her in his own chair, “ thou art right. She is a king’s daughter. Ask her, and thou shalt see what a king’s daughter can do.” And stooping to Agnes of Solier, he kissed her on the forehead, and left the room.

If love and death could be made subject to will and reason, so that instead of loving love and fearing death, as nature and instinct compel us, we should love death and fear love, then had Passe Rose never gotten from her knees when the Saxon’s knife threatened her, nor thrown herself at the feet of Agnes of Solier. But in concerns of love and death nature is stronger than reason, and impulse will countervail consideration ; and though at the king’s going Passe Rose felt shame drying the source of her tears, and pride nipping the buds of her heart’s promise, yet, “ If I rise,” she said to herself, “ all is lost ; ” and thus bowed down by the weight of her love, before lesser motives could sway her she felt warm arms pressed about her neck, her face was drawn upwards, and she saw two eyes shining in tears, like her own. No word was spoken. They thought no more of their grief and joy than of the coarse wool and silken tissue which clothed them, but like two naked souls fresh from God’s hands gazed at one another.

“ Thou hast seen him ? ” murmured Agnes of Solier. Passe Rose’s eyes answered. " And he loves thee — he has told thee”— Passe Rose buried her face in the broidered dress, her shoulders shaken with sobbing. It seemed to her that she could not bear the kiss she felt upon her hair, nor the arms’ tender pressure.

“ By the Blessed Jesus,” she exclaimed, struggling to her feet, " would I might die for thee ! ”

XXIV.

On the day Passe Rose appeared before the king, the twelve psalms were recited at nones, and prayers were said in commemoration of Christ’s death, in presence of the royal household, the king himself chanting the epistle before the congregation, who wondered at his fervor. And though no mention is made by the chronicler of Passe Rose, who knelt beside Agnes of Sober in the queen’s tribune. I had given less to hear the king’s voice than to know what Passe Rose and Agnes of Sober said to God at the moment indicated by the rubric in these words: “ Here speak thyself to God, and explain to Him thy need as thine heart shall prompt thee.”

The night of that same day, also, when the lights of the palace were extinguished and the city slept, the king rose from bed, walking to and fro like one troubled in mind. But I had given less to know his thoughts than to know of what Passe Rose was thinking, as she lay in bed that night with Agnes of Solier. Was it for joy, or for the novelty of all about her, or for awe and love of her bedfellow, that she could not sleep? For my part, I think it was because of an image of an angel standing within the curtain rail, whose wings were of silver plates so cunningly riveted that they seemed ready to beat the air ; and that in her dreams she took this image for the priest coming with his swinging censer to bless her nuptial bed. Else why, when day was come, did she lie abashed, not daring to move, watching a full hour its silver wings?

There was marveling among the queen’s women to see this stranger with Agnes of Solier. Gesualda’s eyes were big with wonder, and her tongue could scarce keep pace with her conjectures or with the gossip whispered around her. It was said the king had recognized Agnes of Solier to he his daughter, and had forbidden her marriage through excess of affection, as in times past he had refused Bertrade to Ethelwold of Mercia, and Rotrude to the Emperor Constantine. One pretended that, having proclaimed her his own daughter, he would wed her with a greater than a simple captain; and another, that Gisla, the king s sister, had persuaded her to leave the world, and that to this end the king would give her the abbey of Poictiers. Whether any of these rumors were true or all were false, this is certain (for Gesualda had it from the chief of the pages, while waiting for the queen to go to mass on the morning of Pepin’s coming) : that after the prayers above mentioned, the king, being alone with the queen in her apartments, sent for both Agnes of Solier and Passe Rose; that these two came hand in hand, and were kissed in turn by the queen ; and that the king pressed Passe Rose to ask his favor on whatever her heart desired. Whereupon she made answer that, of all things she had ever desired, to do her own pleasure freely for a whole hour was the greatest. “ At this,” said the page, " the king laughed, and gave her his signet ring till night, to work her will with it as she pleased, bidding me to wait upon her.”

“ Holy Virgin ! ” gasped Gesualda. “ What did she ? ”

“ First, she sent for the young page Gerald, and caused to be written for him an order on the king’s treasury for a hundred sous, ' because,’ she said, ' of the truth spoken by the oracle.’ ”

“ What oracle ? ” asked Gesualda.

“ All I know I tell thee,” replied the page. " At the same time,” he continued, “ she had another written for a woman living without the gate, by the ford of the Wurm, of the value of a young Breton colt lost in the king’s service. Then she inquired for a certain Gascon, captain of the watch, and bade me fetch him. Thou shouldst have seen the fellow when he saw her ! For she pretended anger, and, showing him the ring, asked if, being hidden by the king, he would now kiss a demon. At this he began to tremble and stammer, and she to laugh, saying that although her mouth were as full of kisses as her heart with joy, they were not hers to give, but that she would forgive his rudeness if he would bring her a certain goldsmith, by name Werdric, living in Maestricht, but now searching for his wife Jeanne in the city. While the Gascon was gone she went to the new basilica, leaving me at the door to wait till she was come out again. But I followed her, an easy matter because of the crowd, and saw her at the altar of the Virgin, laying there a collar of gold which she had about her neck.”

“ I remember— I remember,” said Gesualda.

“ Listen,” continued the page, lowering his voice. " As we came back, the streets being full of strangers, — what thinkest thou ? She laid her hand upon one who passed near us. ' Art thou not the Greek expected by the Prior Sergius from Pavia ? ’ she asked. I tell thee the fellow’s eyes shone with pleasure at seeing her. But before he coultl answer, ‘ Thy mission is known to the king,’ she said.

‘ Get thee gone, therefore, if thou wouldst save thy life, and endeavor also to save thy soul. This I do for no love of thee, but because thou once lovedst me,’ — and left him, white and staring.”

“ Oh, oh ! ” murmured Gesualda.

“ Afterwards the Gascon came, saying he had the goldsmith below. ‘ Knowest thou the monk who stabbed the Saxon yesternight ? ’ she asked. At which he replied that he knew him well, having seized him in the act. ‘ Go loose him,’ she said, showing the king’s signet again,

‘ and say to him that, being by age and learning a suitable person, the queen is pleased to write the abbot to make him deacon, that he may the better serve God at the altar. . . . I would have him prior,’ she said, turning to me, ‘ but he is not fit; it were better, therefore, to leave this to God.’ Then came the goldsmith, and this man also began to tremble and change color when he saw her, and suddenly fell on his knees, crying, ‘ Pardon ! ’ ‘ Speak no more of it, she said;

' the curse is turned to blessing ; but get, thy mule ready, for on the morrow I would go with thee to Maestricht, and Jeanne will follow.’”

“ Hath she truly gone ? ” asked Gesualda.

“ This very morning — as she said. Here, thy rein ! ” cried the page, for he stood at Gesualda’s stirrup. “ The queen comes.” As he spoke, the doors were thrown open, and Liutgarde appeared with the king’s daughters.

“ Is Agnes among them ? " asked Gesualda, raising herself on the point of her toe.

“ Aye, behind, to the left. See,” said the page, steadying the girl with his arm. “ Adieu.” His eyes lingered on her face. “ Adieu,” he repeated, seeking her hand under the saddle fringe.

But Gesualda’s eyes were fixed upon Agnes of Solier. “ By Heaven ! ” she said to herself, “ she hath been weeping.”

Who will may read in the chronicles how Pepin entered Aix with files of captives and chariots loaded with treasure ; how the Kan Thudun was baptized and his nobles forswore their idols ; how the army feasted under the toss of torches ; what largesses were distributed to the Church and among the king’s vassals; and how, in memory thereof, Leo caused to be executed the mosaic representing the king receiving from the hand of St. Peter the standard of the empire. But since Passe Rose rode that morning from Aix with Werdric, it were not our business to paint a fleeting pageant. And if any one should deem it strange that she should ride to Maestricht, and not to Frankenburg, where her lover lay wounded, let him remember that in all times when the road is rough and dangers threaten, a woman will win her way in spite of them to the side of her lover; but that when the road is smooth and open, when the wedding train is ready, the horses neighing in the street, and the priest waiting at the parvis door, she will dally at her toilet table and linger with her maids before descending.

If ever a man had paid dear for a hot word spoken in wrath, that man was Werdric, the gold-beater of Maestricht. Had Jeanne flown at him with reproaches, that morning when the madness of a shameful suspicion got the better of love and reason, grief had been easier to bear. But to see her stealing up the turret stair, listening at every footstep without the gate, and looking up eagerly at the sound of a latch ; to see her wits departing with her hope day by day, and yet, from force of habit, her hand still turned to her tasks ; to feel her eyes, as he worked on the holy image, watching hungrily its beauty grow under the tool’s edge, was almost beyond endurance. Many a man will breathe God’s air, close his eyes in sleep and open them again to the sun, without the knowledge of what these things mean; wrongly believing that in the gold which swells his purse or the wheat which bursts his barn lies the bulk of his happiness. Thus Werdric had lived in joy and peace with his wife Jeanne, not knowing wherein his content lay, till, one morning, he found the kitchen fire dead, and the bench where she was wont to sit empty. But now, returning home from Aix, he thanked God for every breath he drew, and for every sunbeam struggling through the trees ; for Passe Rose rode before him, as on the morning when he found her, coming from St. Denis’ fair, and Jeanne was following but a day’s journey behind them.

“ It is firmly fixed in my mind,” said Passe Rose, as they journeyed side by side, “ that if the pot is put to boil, and all things made to appear as if nothing had happened, our mother will recover her reason.”

At these words, tears filled Werdric’s eyes and coursed down the furrows of his cheeks; but there was no bitterness in them. For his heart was swollen with happiness, and when this is the case one has great confidence in God.

Never was Passe Rose so surprised as when, opening the garden gate, she saw the geese unpastured and the boy lolling with the maids in the grass. It seemed as if every stick and stone knew of Jeanne’s absence. The weeds were growing insolently in the path; the leaves had assembled in companies under the wall, and chased each other at will over the beds ; the very pots were dull, as with spleen ; and spiders wove in the corners. But forthwith Passe Rose set the boy at the weeds and the maids at the pots, and, leaving them to marvel, went up the turret stair to her own chamber. There was the open chest, with the dress she loved flung therein ; there among the fragments of the holy image lay her purse on the floor, where it had fallen when she hurled it, in her rage, at the Blessed Mother of God ; and there, too, was the print of her face in the golden sun broidered on her bed-cushion. Surely Jeanne had often come by stealth to gaze at these things, and now for the first time Passe Rose saw that this desolation was the work of her own hand. She who had given her pardon to Werdric needed now pardon for herself. ” Seigneur Dieu ! ” she cried, falling on her knees and stifling her sobs in the golden sun. " I was more cruel than he.” Whether she prayed while sobbing so heavily I know not, but just then a sound of distant chanting came as it were an answer from heaven itself. She raised her head, listening. “ That should be the monks of St. Servais,” thought she ; and, rising quickly from her knees, pushed wide her window of horn. A flood of sunshine enwrapped her. “ Why sing they at this hour?” she cried to a passer-by.

“ Knowest thou not the abbot hath gotten his health ? The monks give the praise to God.”

“ Aye, aye, God be praised! ” said Passe Rose, drying her tears.

XXV.

The next morning came a messenger from the hill to Passe Rose, saying the abbot desired to speak with her, much to the astonishment of Maréthruda, who observed everything from her window. For while it was publicly said that Werdric had found Passe Rose in the king’s palace, as the sons of Jacob had found their brother at the court of Pharaoh; that Passe Rose had won the king’s favor, and would wed the newly appointed master of the stables, — Robert of Tours being dead in Hungary, — these rumors, so far from appeasing Maréthruda’s curiosity, like stones dropped in a waterjar, only caused it to overflow the more. On hearing, in the market-place, that Passe Rose was betrothed to the captain of the king’s horse, she had shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, declaring she would credit it when wolves preached to lambs and cabbages had the smell of roses. But when Werdric showed her a samite cloth woven of six threads in Sicily, the gift of Agnes of Solier for a bridal robe, for the tressed silk of whose girdle he was fashioning two dragons’ heads with gaping mouths to hold the strands, she could doubt no longer.

“ God pardon us ! ” she thought, as she watched Passe Rose go forth mounted upon one of the sleek monastery mules, remembering how she had joined her neighbors in declaring the girl to be a demon.

Half-way up the hill Passe Rose bade the messenger ride on before her. “ The motion fatigues me,” she said. " I will rest here a little, and join thee at the gate.” When he was gone she slipped from her seat, tying the nude by the roadside, and went in through the thornthicket to where Gui had found her fastening her sandals. There she lingered awhile, listening to the brook’s tumble ; then went down among the mulberries, to the place where site had sat with her lover. Did she feel nearer to him among these mute witnesses of her first confession ? At her approach the mulberry leaves ceased their whispering, and she, observing them all tenderly, stood still in their midst, as if ashamed at all they knew. Regaining the road, she met the herdsmen going with the pigs to the oak feeding-grounds, and citizens coming from the sale of new wine, held every autumn without the abbey gates ; these, intent upon their own business, went their ways, with only a glance or common greeting, when it seemed to Passe Rose that every one should stop to gaze at her. A sense of Superiority lifted her above them all, and she looked with pity to see such sordid cares on the faces of God’s creatures. Indeed, the mulberry-trees were far more congenial companions, and, though ignorant of the price of new wine, were better judges of the fruits which God has planted in his garden.

There were no stars in the watermirror, as she neared the pond, but the sun shone there, making a golden whirlpool where the waters eddied about the sluice. Her guide, angry because she dallied by the wayside when the abbot was waiting in the orchard, stamped his foot impatiently to see her now gazing stupidly into the pool. But Passe Rose, occupied by her thoughts, observing first tlie bush where she had lain concealed, and then the small gate whence Friedgis had issued, paused again under the wall of the Saxon’s cell ; at which her companion muttered so loudly that she drew a long breath, and followed him in silence. At the orchard gate he left her, and she perceived the abbot on the seat near the cliff’s brow, beckoning to her. Advancing under the king’s gaze, in his cabinet at Aix, she felt less trouble than now, remembering how this holy man had thought her certainly to be a devil, once dwelling within him. Her step trembled and her cheeks burned, and she covered these with her hands as she knelt down before him. Yet never did penitent bow with greater assurance of pardon, for between her fingers she saw upon the abbot’s knees a parchment missive stamped with the king’s signet. There was a silence, and then, —

“ God has sent thee much sorrow,” said the abbot.

“ And great joy,’ she replied, lifting her head. The evidence of it was on her face, and Passe Rose was convinced that the abbot knew all that she had ever said or done, for immediately he added, —

“ In sorrow we curse God, and in joy we forget him.” Then he pointed to Maestricht, spread below on the plain, where the river shone, saying, “ When Christ was yet young, as thou art, Satan took him up to such a place as this" —

“ Aye, father,”murmured Passe Rose quickly.

“ Thinkest thou the Tempter showed him lands and gold and honor only, and not love also ? ” said the abbot.

Though his voice was gentle and his palm rested on her hair, Passe Rose stood up, trembling.

“ If thou takest away my love, thou takest the staff from my hand.”

The abbot turned away his head, and then, after a little, “ God make it to blossom like that of Aaron.”

“ And give it rain and sun, that it may bear fruit to his glory,” added Passe Rose candidly.

“ Thine is the age of ready promise,” said the abbot, looking at her with a show of severity.

“ And great courage, father.”

Vanquished by her sturdy confidence, the abbot turned his eyes again to the plain. The sun was struggling with the autumn wind to make the day fair, breaking at times from behind the clouds with a burst of its springtime power. Certainly it did not occur to Passe Rose that, like the sun, she could open to the abbot a vision of spring; for who, in the shadow of a mighty tree, would ever think that its stubborn trunk had once swayed to May winds, or that so rugged a bark was ever smooth and fair ? What Passe Rose saw was the king’s letter close under her eyes, yet as far from her comprehension as had been the gospel page on the altar of St. Servais, “ I will ask leave,” she was vowing to herself, “ to come to the abbey school, that I may master this mystery ; ” and at the same time she remembered the ivory tablets sold by the Greek merchant, also an alphabet designed to hang from the girdle, and thought how well they would become her.

Surprising her gaze fixed upon the letter, the abbot took the missive from his knee. “ The king,” he said. " hath sent hither the silver pyx from his chapel at Aix. Into whatever place this pyx is carried, there the sick are healed, the barren bear, and reason returns to the witless. Art thou able to fast ” —

“ Oh. willingly ! ” cried Passe Rose.

“ And to pass the night in prayer ” — “ That is nothing,” she interrupted eagerly.

“ For to-morrow thy mother returns. At the third hour, by the king’s command, the brotherhood will assemble to chant the litanies of Marcellus, which the Virgin taught the saint from her own mouth at Embryn. At that hour the bell will ring in the tower of St. Gabrielle ; at its sound, lift thy voice also to heaven.” He raised his hand; Passe Rose knelt again. “ The peace of God and his angels guard thee.”

Passe Rose did not stir. When at last she raised her eyes to the abbot’s face, they were shining as never stars shone in the pond. She rose to her feet, yet did not turn to go. A scarlet flush overspread her face. She retreated a step, and paused again, with a wistful glance at the letter of the king.

Opening it, the abbot began to read: “ ' In the name of God and of our Saviour Jesus Christ, Karle, by the will of the Divine Providence, king, to Rainal, abbot of St. Servais: Be it known that our will is that you make preparations to come, the xv of the calends of January, that is to say six days before Noel, to our palace of Aix, there to Celebrate the espousals of our faithful vassal, Gui, Count of Tours ’ ” — Here the abbot looked up from the missive.

But Passe Rose, who had gone with her dagger to the Saxon’s cell, who, though bred among dancers, bore herself courteously with a king’s daughter, had fled; and going down the hill, now walking, now running, sang aloud the salut she had sung to Queen Hildegarde, when she danced at Chasseneuil:

XXVI.

Since the world was made, the wise pretend to set Art over against Nature, showing how the latter proceedeth by law, repeating herself by a blind necessity, without admixture of will or purpose. Yet no man twining his hovel with vines, clothing his nakedness with fineries, or fencing his life about with ceremonies, can compare with Nature in enchantments and illusions. No painter will make the flat appear round with greater nicety, no coquette hide a blemish with such delicacy. With a moonbeam she will outdo fancy, and, splitting the sun’s rays, weave herself garments of such beauty as puts imagination to shame. When age is written on her face she will wear her gaudiest ribbons, and no flower of the field under the autumn stars would dream that the drops gathering on its petals were the sharp points of her frost arrows. Has any one failed to observe how, like an old woman who tries her wedding dress when her wrinkles are as plenty as its creases, Nature will put on her spring gown when leaves arc falling and the ribs of rock appear in the mountain pastures ; how she will draw about her passing comeliness a veil of mist so full of glamour that one is forced to believe her youth restored and winter far distant ?

In Jeanne’s garden the leaves of the carnelian cherries were yellow and specked with black, and their branches ready to shiver at the least breath of the wind ; the plum-trees were tired of growing, and no longer strained to reach the top of the wall ; shallot and parsley were withered into brown tufts of shrunken leafage ; and the apples on the kitchen wall were pinched and lustreless. But none of these things could contend with Nature, bent upon counterfeiting a spring morning. Purple hemp-nettles bloomed along the wall, — one might think they were May harebells ; asters and yellow celandine nodded to each other across the path, as neighbors passing in the street might greet each other with wishes for a long life; hairy heads of grass jostled each other under Maréthruda’s window; and everywhere the loriots and the sparrows preened and plumed their feathers wisely, as birds will when the young are grown, and all the screaming and chirping, the worry and fuss, of spring loves and summer cares are over. Under the open kitchen root the fire blazed on the stone floor, with fagots lit for use hard by ; a fleecy steam rose from the pot, and the spoon protruded above the rim, ready for the hand to seize ; the geese were at pasture, the two maids washing at the river ; Maréthruda was leaning from the window as formerly, when she had news to tell ; through the open door came tinkling sounds of tools where Werdric was at work ; and by the wooden post under the eaves Passe Rose herself sat in the sun, combing wool and watching the shadow of St. Sebastian’s tower creeping up the path.

At every sound in the street, Maréthruda, her eyes fixed upon the garden gate, started. " Dieu ! ” she called to Passe Rose, " my tongue cleaves to my mouth; it will not move even to a prayer.

“ Leave prayers to the monks,” said Passe Rose, drawing her comb through the wool, but trembling inwardly ; “thy business is to speak some common word, as thy wont is when she returns from market.”

“ As true as I live, I can think of nothing,” replied Maréthruda.

“ Say that the abbot hath sent her a tun of beer in exchange for the cheeses.”

“ That had not occurred to me,” said Maréthruda. “ Is it sour or honeyed ? ”

Passe Rose cast a quick glance of scorn at her neighbor ; then the comb dropped from her hand in the wool, for the bell struck in the tower of St. Gabrielle, and immediately the gate opened and Jeanne entered.

Passe Rose could neither stoop to take her comb nor lift her eyes. Every beat of her heart was like the stroke of the bell’s hammer. She wished to run and clasp to her bosom the form she knew was standing in the door, and at the same time a cruel thought — “If I show her overmuch love, she will mistrust me ” — took all her courage.

“ Thou art late, so I put the pot to boil,” she gasped, regaining her comb with a desperate motion.

Her eyes riveted upon Passe Rose, Jeanne stood immobile in the archway. In her fingers she held the ragged skirt of her garment. Whether she heard the pot steaming on the tripod, or the click of Werdric’s tools, or the burden of the monk’s hymn, " Alleluia, song of sweetness,” I cannot tell; but at the sound of Passe Rose’s voice, she advanced a step timidly, then stood still again. In her eyes one could see the struggle of contending passions, — distrust, desire, fear, and the hunger of love’s famine. With a rapid glance about her, she took another step forward, and, seeing Maréthruda, smiled faintly; then, hesitating, retreated again, like an intruder.

It seemed to Passe Rose that God and Maréthruda deserted her ; and forgetting both, as also the silver pyx, she rose in her own strength, and went to meet her mother. I know not what mixture of sweet cajolery and commanding willfulness was in her face and motion, but as she drew near Jeanne began to smile, and then to laugh, — a laugh so strangely pitiful that Passe Rose burst into sobbing, and caught her about the neck.

When Maréthruda, hastening from her window, reached the spot, Passe Rose was seated on the garden walk, holding Jeanne to her bosom, and Werdric knelt beside her. " See, her lips move ! ” cried Maréthruda, beside herself.

Passe Rose bent her ear and listened.

“ What says she ? ” asked Maréthruda excitedly.

And Passe Rose, looking up through her tears, whispered, " That she dreamed the geese had gone astray in the meadow.”

He who, before he returned to Paradise, opened by a word the sealed ear to the sounds of this world, and the closed eye to its beauties, might doubtless have set Jeanne’s wits aright instantaneously, without leaving them, as it were, to grope first among the geese, and to set themselves in order little by little with the growth of her bodily vigor. But such is the general course of his Providence, — to proceed by gentle stages, and not after the hot desires of our own wills. And if through much longing Passe Rose chafed at the delay in her mother’s restoration and the healing of her lover’s wound, yet she gathered more happiness by the way than if God had granted her wish as the fays do, in a point of time. Thus a man enters the temple of his joy as he would go to the church of St. Servais, on the hill above Maestricht; seeing first the tower of Gabrielle from a distance, then hearing its bell faintly, afterwards losing all sight of its walls among the oak-trees, till, having passed the ponds, they appear again close at hand, and at last, gaining the steps of the parvis, he lifts the curtain and goes in to the shrine. And it was so that Passe Rose, when Jeanne had left her bed, and the time of the espousals drew near, went up to the public mass said in honor of the silver pyx which had worked her mother’s cure. The service had commenced when she reached the church door, so she went forward on the points of her toes, listening to the priest reading the epistle. His voice quivered like a flame ; she recognized it well, though it was new, and as she passed the last pillar she perceived the celebrant was Brother Dominic. Remembering what terror she had thrice caused him, she remained in the pillar’s shadow, observing him.

His face had grown thin, changed in some marvelous fashion like his voice. Fascinated, she advanced unawares, and their eyes met. His look passed from her face as the wind leaves the cheek, and his voice soared higher : —

“ Love not the world ” —

At these words Passe Rose started, as at a blow.

— “ neither the things that are in the world. . . . The world passeth away ” — But Passe Rose, looking up, smiled. For love abideth forever.

Arthur Sherburne Hardy.