Читать книгу Three Came to Ville Marie - Alan Sullivan - Страница 7

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“It is unfortunate, my son, that this should have happened,” said Abbé Callot, gently, “more unfortunate than I can express. One could not dream that so happy a meeting could precede such a parting, but it is over now, and for you to decide what you will do, so why not commence your travels? It is advisable to go somewhere.”

To this came no immediate answer, and the Abbé gave a gusty sigh. They were in Paul's book-lined retreat, the house very quiet, with no sound from the dining-room across the hall where Joseph, setting the table for lunch, murmured inaudibly and stepped as though his feet hurt him. He had been like that since yesterday when he walked blindly back from the Vilaine, head down, feeling very queer and ancient. The horse, reins trailing, had drawn the gig into the orchard and grazed beneath the apple trees. The library windows were open, and Paul sat motionless at his desk, face between his hands; Joseph's throat contracted at the sight. When the other servants begged for details, he had cursed them, and now the place was like a tomb.

Then arrived Abbé Callot, wondering not a little what comfort he had for this strange disciple of his. He probed about, trying this angle and that, till Paul, saying nothing, put before him a curt letter received that day from the château.

“The Comte de Marbeau informs Monsieur Paul de Lorimier that in view of what has taken place, no further association is possible.”

When the priest read this he looked very hard at Paul. “It could not be otherwise, but presently you will cease to love. It will pass.”

Paul shook his weary head, “That is not possible, I shall never cease to love.”

“An unprofitable pursuit, my son. I speak with knowledge, for Jacqueline herself is with her father in this affair. She approves the letter. So I urge you to start on your travels now.”

“I cannot go alone,” said Paul, dully, “I fear being alone.”

“On the other hand, you cannot stay here in solitude. Listen! I must not conceal from you the fact that already Lieutenant Vicotte has permission to pay his addresses; such things do transpire, and we cannot prevent them.”

“She will marry Jules?”

“I have talked with her father, and it is most probable.”

“Jules is a traitor!”

“I doubt whether the world would call him that,” said the priest, candidly, “and apparently he has something more acceptable to offer.”

“His honour?” croaked Paul.

“Perhaps—and while it is not for me to adjudicate in such matters, it seems that this lieutenant has struck a spark that you, my friend, did not ignite, though you tried hard.”

“Then you do not understand how it happened, or why it happened?”

“For just a moment I did not, but now I do. You were brave, my son; but here in France such bravery is not popular, though certainly if one could find a way for its use the world has need of it. The dear Christ could have slain His captors with a word, yet He refrained.”

The drawn face softened a little, “I am glad you remembered.”

“It is curious, my son, but almost since you were a small boy, I felt your future held something not easily foreseen, that it had a purpose to be made clear at the right time. When you spoke of writing, I remained unconvinced, being assured that not in words would the story of your life be told. But here in Castellon there is small room for deeds, and now a wider wisdom than mine is required; therefore,” here the Abbé's blue eyes were highly sagacious, “I beg you to go to Paris, taking....”

“But Paris does not attract me.”

“The Paris I have in mind is not the one in yours. You will take a letter to my good friend, Godet des Marais, who retains, in spite of years of separation, some regard for the undistinguished Abbé of Castellon. I will tell him, if you permit, certain things you may find it difficult to relate; you will tell him so much as you desire, and what he then tells you will be worth hearing. He has a wide influence and a most keen perception.”

“Who is this man?”

“The spiritual director to Madame de Maintenon, also Bishop designate of Chartres.”

“Would one in his position have any concern for me?”

“There would be no letter were I not sure of it. Paul, you must go; there is nothing to prevent it, and your affairs will be safe in the hands of Raoul Fouquette.”

“I doubt whether Raoul desires any more of me; he is too offended. I have not seen him since.”

“What matter? His nose for business is not offended, and I have yet to meet a notary who frowns on a commission of five per cent. Also....” he added affectionately, “if it is God's will, I shall be in Castellon a few years longer, my work lies here, but with you it is different. Well, Paul?”

“You are right, father, I must go.”

“I hope you will earn an honour higher than that some men think you have lost. Should you be in doubt, write to me, and the bald old priest, by whose knee you spent so many companionable hours, may be able to help a little.”

“I will come and see you often.”

Abbé Callot shook his head. “I doubt it, though you will be very welcome. Our paths divide now, but my prayers will follow you. God go with you, my son.”