The Saint Part 3

She pressed Noemi's arm convulsively without speaking. In silence they crossed the square. Carlino directed them to take a lonely street on the left, brightly illumined by the moon, which hung just above the dark, serrated house-tops. Jeanne whispered to her companion:

"Let us make haste and get home quickly."

But Carlino, hearing the sound of dance-music issuing from the Hotel de Flandre, ordered them to stop and began writing in his note-book. Noemi was saying something about the Hotel de Flandre, where she had stayed some years before, when Jeanne suddenly interrupted her:

"Did Maria write you that long story?"

Noemi answered, apprehensive rather than surprised.

"Yes, it was Maria."

"I do not understand," replied Jeanne, "why she should have taken all that trouble."

Noemi did not answer. Jeanne shook her arm which she still held. "Will you not speak? What do you think?"

Although both now were silent, they did not hear Carlino call to them to turn to the left. He came up angrily, and taking them by the shoulders, turned them, fuming the while, in another direction. They obeyed without noticing his voice or manner.

"Will you not answer?" Jeanne repeated, half aggrieved and half amazed.

Noemi in her turn pressed her friend's arm.

"Wait until we get home," she said.

Carlino shouted.

"Stop under those trees."

But Jeanne, having reached an open s.p.a.ce filled with small trees and bathed in moonlight, under the great wall of the ancient cathedral, stopped at once, and stretching out her arm, which had rested on Noemi's, seized her friend's hand and said, trembling with agitation:

"Noemi, answer me at once; have you told your sister anything?"

Carlino called to them to stop there if they liked, but to pretend to be engaged in an interesting conversation.

Noemi answered her friend with a "yes" so timid and soft that Jeanne understood all. Maria Selva believed that her monk, this Don Clemente, was Piero Maironi.

"Oh, G.o.d!" she exclaimed, tightly pressing Noemi's hand. "But did she really say so?"

"Say what?"

"What indeed!"

Good heavens! How difficult it was to make the girl speak out. Jeanne freed herself from her, but Noemi, alarmed, at once seized her arm again.

"Capital!" cried Carlino. "But don't overdo it."

"Forgive me," Noemi pleaded. "It is only a supposition after all; only a conjecture. She herself says so."

"No," Jeanne burst out, sweeping away doubt and conjecture. "No, it is not he, it is not possible. He was never a musician."

"No, no, it is not he, it is not," Noemi hastened to rea.s.sure her, speaking under her breath, for Carlino was approaching. He came, praised their acting, and expressed a desire that they should move on slowly among the trees.

In the shadow of the trees Jeanne complained almost indignantly, that her friend had waited until then to make such a disclosure; she ought to have spoken sooner, and at home. And once more she protested that this Benedictine monk could not be Maironi, because Maironi had never been a musician. Noemi tried to justify herself. She had intended to speak on her return from the Hospital of St. John, from the visit to Memling, but Jeanne had been so sad! Still she would have spoken had Carlino not come in. And now while they had been walking she had not known how to parry Jeanne's questions. If, when they were standing near the Hotel de Flandre, Jeanne had not returned to the subject, she would not have referred to it again; and she, Noemi, would not have made her disclosure until they reached home.

"And your sister really believes?" said Jeanne.

Well, Maria was in doubt. It would seem that Giovanni was the more certain. Giovanni was sure; at least Maria said so in her letter. At receiving this reply Jeanne flared up. How could he be sure? what did he know about it? Maironi could not play a single chord on the piano. Good grounds for certainty indeed! Noemi observed submissively that he might have learned in three years; that the monks had their reasons for training brothers to play the organ.

"Then you believe it too?" exclaimed Jeanne. Noemi stammered "I do not know" so hesitatingly that Jeanne, in great agitation, declared she must leave at once for Subiaco, that she must know the truth. She had already promised Maria Selva to bring her sister back. She would find some means of persuading Carlino to start immediately. Noemi was frightened. For her own peace of mind, as well as for Don Clemente's, her brother-in-law would not wish Jeanne Dessalle to return to Subiaco. It was Noemi's mission to convince her of the propriety of such a renunciation. Selva was restored to health, and had himself offered to come and meet his sister-in-law, would even come to Belgium, were it necessary. She now tried to oppose the idea of immediate departure; but only succeeded in irritating Jeanne, who repeatedly protested that the Selvas were mistaken, but was unable to give any other reason for her violent resistance. Carlino, having caught a sharp "That is enough" uttered by his sister, drew nearer. Were they quarrelling, the priest and the girl?

Now, when the mystical tenderness ought to begin? "Do leave us alone,"

said Noemi. "By this time your old priest of ninety would be dead ten times over of fatigue. Don't give us any more orders. I will lead the way. I know Bruges better than you, and you keep a hundred paces behind." Carlino could find nothing to say but "Oh, oh--oh, oh--oh, oh!" and Noemi carried Jeanne off with her, following the railing of the little cemetery of Saint-Sauveur. It seemed the right moment for her final revelation.

"I really believe Giovanni is right, you know," said she. "This Don Clemente comes from Brescia."

Jeanne, overcome by an excess of misery, threw her arms round her friend's neck and burst into tears. Noemi, dismayed, implored her to calm herself.

"For G.o.d's sake, Jeanne!"

Between her sobs, she asked Noemi whether Carlino knew. Oh, no, but what would he think now?

"He cannot see us here," sobbed Jeanne. They were in the shadow of the church. Noemi was surprised that Jeanne, in spite of her emotion, had noticed the fact.

"For mercy's sake, do not let him find out. For mercy's sake!"

Noemi promised to be silent. Jeanne grew calmer little by little, and was the first to move. Oh, to be alone! Alone in her own room! The sight of the tower of Notre Dame piercing the sky with its pointed spire hurt her, like the sight of some victorious and implacable foe. She now saw clearly that for three years she had been deceiving herself in thinking that she no longer hoped. This hope which she had thought dead, how it still struggled and suffered, how it persisted in a.s.sailing her heart.

No, no, he has not become a monk, it is not he! In an access of longing, she pressed Noemi's arm. The rea.s.suring voice was growing weaker, was fading away. Probably it was he, probably all was really over for ever.

The silence of the night, the sadness of the moon, the gloom of the dead streets, an icy breeze which had sprung up, were in harmony with her thoughts.

Just a little beyond Notre Dame they again saw the sinister-looking wayfarer gliding along close to the wall, on the dark side of the street. Noemi hastened her steps, herself anxious to reach home.

Carlino, perceiving that his companions were going straight to the villa instead of crossing the bridge, which leads to the opposite sh.o.r.e of the Lac d'Amour, protested loudly. How was this? What about the last scene?

Had they forgotten? Noemi showed signs of rebellion, but Jeanne, fearing lest Carlino should discover aught of her secret, begged her to yield.

"Stop a minute or two on the bridge," Carlino called out.

They leaned against the parapet, gazing into the oval mirror of motionless water. The moon was hidden behind the clouds.

"This absence of the moon is perfect for me," said Carlino. "But now I would give half my future glory if a little window could be opened in the clouds with a tiny star s.h.i.+ning in the middle and reflected in the water. You cannot imagine what a success this last chapter is going to be. Listen, on the Quai de Rosaire you looked at the swans."

"But they were not there," said Noemi, interrupting him.

"Never mind," Carlino went on. "You looked at the swans in the moonlight."

"But the moon did not touch the water," retorted Noemi.

"What does it matter?" replied Carlino, vexed. Noemi, having observed that in that case it was useless to drag them about Bruges at such an hour, he poetically compared his preparatory study, his almost photographic notes, to the garlic which is useful in the kitchen, but is not brought to table, and he continued to talk of the swans and the moon.

"You compared the living purity with the dead purity. The old priest utters this exquisite sentiment, that perhaps the living whiteness of the girl's soul irradiates his thoughts, bleached, like his hair, by approaching death, while he now feels in his soul the dawn of a warm purity. Then he murmurs to himself almost involuntarily: 'Abis.h.a.g.' The girl asks: 'Who is Abis.h.a.g?' because she is ignorant like you two, who do not know Abis.h.a.g, my first love. The priest does not answer, but proceeds with the girl down the Rue des Laines. She asks again who may be Abis.h.a.g, and still the old man is silent. Then appears that horrible black shadow, which comes and goes and at last vanishes at the sound of the twenty-four bells."

"That is not correct," murmured Noemi. Carlino was on the point of saying, "Stupid!"