CHAPTER XIII
"When thy last breath, ere Nature sank to rest
Thy meek submission to thy God expressed;
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled,
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed;
What to thy soul its glad assurance gave--
Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave?
The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth,
Th' inspiring voice of innocence and truth!"--ROGERS.
The good Sister Frances, though she had scarcely recovered from the shock
of the preceding night, accompanied Victoire to the Chateau de Fleury.
The gates were opened for them by the old steward and his son Basile, who
welcomed them with all the eagerness with which people welcome friends in
time of adversity. The old man showed them the place; and through every
apartment of the castle went on talking of former times, and with
narrative fondness told anecdotes of his dear master and mistress. Here
his lady used to sit and read--here was the table at which she wrote--this
was the sofa on which she and the ladies sat the very last day she was at
the castle, at the open windows of the hall, whilst all the tenants and
people of the village were dancing on the green.
"Ay, those were happy times," said the old man; "but they will never
return."
"Never! Oh do not say so," cried Victoire.
"Never during my life, at least," said the nun in a low voice, and with a
look of resignation.
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