Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

THE rel;. 1 wont up to
struck me,' she said, \\i:h n fearful expression of countenance;
and then, without listening to me, without snying a word or
looking at any one, she walked out of the room, and we heard
her going up stairs and uttering terrible curses.
" ' Hold your tongue,' cried the Abbat, '
or else I
'
'Leave
her alone,' cried the widow, compelling him to sit down; 'do
not put yourself iu the wrong. She began by insulting you,
and you punished her. Now you must make friends and Iry
'
ami live peaceably together." Well, we shall see about that,"
'
he muttered but do ; you know, that if you, my own mother,
had said such things to me, I really think. I should have flown
at you. '
" It was getting late, and I had to go back to S that
same evening. The eldest Pinntel offered to accompany me, as
he had business to transact the following day at the fair.
Just as we were starting, the widow seemed to have a presentiment.
She turned to the Abbat, and said, in an anxious man-
ner, ' You ought to go and sleep at S . Your wife is very
angry, and if you speak to her to-night, something worse may
'
happen than what took place just now." Do you think that
I am afraid of her?' he answered, half affronted. 'I'll tell you
what, mother, she sha'n't insult me another time as she did
just now.'
" We went our way. The weather was flue, the full moon
shining on our road. Before losing sight of the house I turned
my eyes once more towards it; and uttered an earnest prayer
for the proud and rebellious soul I had left behind me. Alas,
I ought to have been pleading for another
"
of God.
soul then about to
appear before the judgment-seat
Lambert sighed deeply, and again seemed reluc-
1
The Abbe
tant to proceed with his narrative, but M. de Champaubert, in
an agitated voice, implored him to finish it. Upon which,
after what appeared a painful effort, he went on.
" Well," he said, " this was what happened. On the follow-
ing day, as I was going to church, I saw some one on the
high-road in the direction of St. C , walking very fast, and
coming my way. This man, as he passed me, called out,
' The fair peasant has killed her husband ; I am going to
"
Aix for the police.'
"Well, she was certainly a very wicked woman," my uncle
ejaculated.
" I at once determined," the Abb6 said, " instead of going
eldest son, who got up at daybreak to bake, as she passed their
room felt her foot slipping in something, which turned out
to be blood, which she then perceived to be oozing out from
under the door. She screamed for help, and the two young
Pinatels, who were just going off to the vineyard, heard her.
They ran up stairs, and found their brother lying murdered
in his bed. It would seem as if she had stabbed
him in his first sleep, f>/r lie had evidently not moved. Just
n w, when I came awny, he was s^ill alive, but was t-xpected
'
every minute to breath'- his last. 'And that woman ?' I asked,
with a shudder. 'They don't know where she is, 'lie answered,
'but they are gone in searcii of her. She must have escaped
across the fields, for the door of the house was found open.
But it is impos dble she can escape ; the whole village is after
her, bent on avenging the Abbat.' I hurried on, begging God
with all my heart t j give me time to prepare that unhappy
man to appear befcre Him. As I approached the house I
heard cries and sobs, which made me afraid all was over. Tli o
iowu-stairs was full o! iM>i>!r. for Ihn Piualcls held n
certain position in the village. I wns (old that the Abbat
was still :il, .( conscious. I made my way up the sort
of ladder which si rv, ,1 us ptai s, and into ai'im'y light-d room.
til Timi];* woman, who was standing iij
king straight before her with a li One of her where all the family were pathen-d round the Abbat, wh. was
' checks \vns of a deadly while, the o "n. 'He has lying in the p sitiun of n man asleep. A whits sh<
the bed, and only his face was to bo seen resting rgainst the
pillow. His mother was bending ov. r him w in she exclaimed,
'Yesterday you brought him back full of life and health, and
now he is about to die ! That she-wolf murdered him in hia
sleep like a poor helpless lamb.'
" '
I must try to help him,' I said, and with a strong feeling
of faith in my heart I knelt down on the opposite sid > of the
bed. I fancied the Abbat moved, then, and opened his eyes.
The doctor arrived at that moment. He raised the she t, and
after having ascertained that the pulse was still
beating, he leaned over the dying man to listen to his i linost
imperceptible breathing. Then he came round to my
side of
the bed, and looking at me shook his head. 'Is there no hope ?'
I asked in a low voice. 'Not the slightest,' he answered.
' The poor fellow hns only a few minutes to live. It would have
been over long ago but for the extraordinary strength
of his
constitution. Life does not easily withdraw from that young
and vigorous frame. '
" '
I went close to the Abbat and felt for his hand. My son,
if you wish God to forgive you
with me pray for your
my dear son," I said to him, '
raise up your heart to Him now. Pray ;
wife and forgive her ; you have only a moment more to 1 ve,
but that moment may purchase the pardon of all your sins.
Do you hear me, my dear son? Are you sorry for all your
sins, and do you forgive your wife in the hope that Gud will
'
forgive you ?
" He made an effort to speak, but failed. I had, however,
the unspeakable consolation of feeling his hand feebly grasping
mine in token of assent, upon which I gave him absolution.
He turned his languid eyes towards me, and then towards his
mother. A few moments after, Francois Pinatel gave up his
penitent and ransomed soul into the hands of his Maker."
CHAPTER XII.
WHAT BECAME OF THE PICTURE.
""When I returned to S- -, I heard that the wretched
at Aix. It was
on to the church, to hasten to St. C . Before I arrived
there I met another man, who confirmed the terrible account I
'
had heard from the first messenger. It is the fair peasant
'
who had committed the crime," he said, there is not
the least doubt about it. Last evening she quarrelled with her
husband. They went to bed, however, as criminal had been arrested and put
was heard in the night.
usual, and nothing
But in the morning, the wife of the
into prison
not possible for me to visit her here, for at that time none but
the priests who had taken the oath could enter the State prisons.
The only thing I could do was to write her a letter, in
which I said everything which Christian charity could say to
save her from despair. I had the satisfaction of ascertaining
that my letter had reached her.
"In times of popular commotion and political disturbances
the law deals silently, as it were, with great criminals, and on
that account the unhappy woman escaped a horrid celebrity.
After lingering in prison for about a year, she appeared before
the tribunals which had been substituted for the old parliamentary
courts, and was tried and condemned according to the
newly enacted laws. She was sentenced to be branded by the
executioner, and to imprisonment for life. 1 was not in France
at that moment, the violence of the persecution had com;
me to take refuge iu the States of the Church, and by the time
I heard of her sentence she had already undergone a part of it.
When I returned from exile, the whole affair was nearly forgotten.
I only learned that the fair peasant, as she was still
called, was in the penitentiary of Embrun, and that the widow
Pinatel had died of grief, as it was supposed, bonauso the
judges had not sentenced her daughter-in-law to death."
" And siuce then you have heard nothing of that unhappy
woman ? " exclaimed M. de Champaubert.
1
The Abbe Lambert hesitated a little, as if he felt some
Hcrnnle about cmnp a direct anuwer to that question. At last