She was praying, praying for strength to go through this ordeal.
"Where did you go, Margot?" he asked. "I searched for you; you were
gone. Where did you go that day?"
Outside, in the corridor, Jehan was listening with eyes distended. And
the marquis did not know, being out of his mind again!
"Hush, Henriot!" said Sister Benie. Tumult was in her heart. His icy
hand closed over hers, which was scarce warmer; all the blood was in
her heart. Her arms ached with longing to wrap this poor form to her
breast. This was the supreme hour of her expiation.
"Henriot?" she called softly. "Henriot?" Thirty years of forgiveness
and love thrilled in that name.
Jehan stole away. All this was not for his ears. Only God had the
right to listen.
"Margot, are you still there? Henriot! I have not heard that name in
thirty years."
She knew that delusion held him in its grasp, that he saw her only in
fancy, else she must have flown.
"Can you forgive me, Margot? . . . I have no faith in women. . . . I
have your letter still; in a casket at Périgny. It is yellow with age,
and crumbles to the touch. Where did you go? After madame died I was
lonely. . . . All, all are phantoms!" Then his delusion took another
turn. He saw her no more. "Monsieur de Longueville, you lie when you
say that I received billets from madame. I know a well-trodden place
behind the Tuileries. Perhaps you will follow me? . . . Richelieu
dead? What, then, will become of France, Jehan? Has Monsieur le Comte
come in yet?"
There were no tears in her eyes. Those reservoirs had emptied and
dried twenty years ago. But her heart cried. A new pain stabbed her,
causing the room to careen. She kissed him on the forehead. It was
all beyond her capacity for suffering. Her love belonged to God, not
to man. To remain was to lose her reason. She would go before the
delusion passed. In the corridor she would kneel and pray for this
dark soul which was about to leap toward the Infinite. On the
threshold she came face to face with Brother Jacques, whose pallor, if
anything, exceeded her own. She stopped, undecided, hesitant. . . .
Was it the color of his eyes?
"I have come, Sister, to give Monsieur le Marquis absolution." His
tone was mild and reassuring. Stuck between his gown and his belt was
the letter Jehan had given him to read. He had not looked at it yet.
"Monsieur le Marquis has called for me."
"You have full powers?" uncertain and distressed. She did not like the
fever in his eyes.
"I am fully ordained. I may not perform mass because of my mutilation,
though I am expecting a dispensation from his Holiness the pope." He
held out his hand, and her distrust subsided at the sight of those
reddened stumps. "You are standing in my way, Sister. Seek Monsieur
le Chevalier, if you will be so kind. He is in the citadel."