CHAPTER XVII. LA TERRASSE.

yshortestwaylaythroughtheBasse-Ville,andasthenightwasexcessivelydark,wild,andwet,Itookit.InridingpastanoldchurchbelongingtoacommunityofBéguines,Isawbyalampburningovertheporchordeeparchoftheentrance,apriestliftingsomeobjectinhisarms.Thelampwasbrightenoughtorevealthepriest’sfeaturesclearly,andIrecognisedhimhewasamanIhaveoftenmetbythesickbedsofbothrichandpoor:andchieflythelatter.Heis,Ithink,agoodoldman,farbetterthanmostofhisclassinthiscountrysuperior,indeed,ineveryway,betterinformed,aswellasmoredevotedtoduty.Oureyesmethecalledonmetostop:whathesupportedwasawoman,faintingordying.Ialighted. “‘Thispersonisoneofyourcountrywomen,’hesaid:‘saveher,ifsheisnotdead.’ “Mycountrywoman,onexamination,turnedouttobetheEnglishteacheratMadameBeck’spensionnat.Shewasperfectlyunconscious,perfectlybloodless,andnearlycold. “‘Whatdoesitallmean?’wasmyinquiry. “Hecommunicatedacuriousaccountthatyouhadbeentohimthateveningatconfessionalthatyourexhaustedandsufferingappearance,coupledwithsomethingsyouhadsaid—” “ThingsIhadsaid?Iwonderwhatthings!” “Awfulcrimes,nodoubtbuthedidnottellmewhat:there,youknow,thesealoftheconfessionalcheckedhisgarrulity,andmycuriosity.Yourconfidences,however,hadnotmadeanenemyofthegoodfatheritseemshewassostruck,andfeltsosorrythatyoushouldbeoutonsuchanightalone,thathehadesteemeditaChristiandutytowatchyouwhenyouquittedthechurch,andsotomanageasnottolosesightofyou,tillyoushouldhavereachedhome.Perhapstheworthymanmight,halfunconsciously,haveblentinthisproceedingsomelittleofthesubtletyofhisclass:itmighthavebeenhisresolvetolearnthelocalityofyourhome—didyouimpartthatinyourconfession?” “Ididnot:onthecontrary,Icarefullyavoidedtheshadowofanyindication:andastomyconfession,Dr.John,Isupposeyouwillthinkmemadfortakingsuchastep,butIcouldnothelpit:Isupposeitwasallthefaultofwhatyoucallmy‘nervoussystem.’Icannotputthecaseintowords,butmydaysandnightsweregrownintolerable:acruelsenseofdesolationpainedmymind:afeelingthatwouldmakeitsway,rushout,orkillme—like(andthisyouwillunderstand,Dr.John)thecurrentwhichpassesthroughtheheart,andwhich,ifaneurismoranyothermorbidcauseobstructsitsnaturalchannels,seeksabnormaloutlet.Iwantedcompanionship,Iwantedfriendship,Iwantedcounsel.Icouldfindnoneoftheseinclosetorchamber,soIwentandsoughttheminchurchandconfessional.AstowhatIsaid,itwasnoconfidence,nonarrative.Ihavedonenothingwrong:mylifehasnotbeenactiveenoughforanydarkdeed,eitherofromanceorreality:allIpouredoutwasadreary,desperatecomplaint.” “Lucy,yououghttotravelforaboutsixmonths:why,yourcalmnatureisgrowingquiteexcitable!ConfoundMadameBeck!Hasthelittlebuxomwidownobowels,tocondemnherbestteachertosolitaryconfinement?” “ItwasnotMadameBeck’sfault,”saidI“itisnolivingbeing’sfault,andIwon’thearanyoneblamed.” “Whoisinthewrong,then,Lucy?” “Me—Dr.John—meandagreatabstractiononwhosewideshouldersIliketolaythemountainsofblametheyweresculpturedtobear:meandFate.” “‘Me’musttakebettercareinfuture,”saidDr.John—smiling,Isuppose,atmybadgrammar. “Changeofair—changeofscenethosearemyprescriptions,”pursuedthepracticalyoungdoctor.“Buttoreturntoourmuttons,Lucy.Asyet,PèreSilas,withallhistact(theysayheisaJesuit),isnowiserthanyouchoosehimtobefor,insteadofreturningtotheRueFossette,yourfeveredwanderings—theremusthavebeenhighfever—” “No,Dr.John:thefevertookitsturnthatnight—now,don’tmakeoutthatIwasdelirious,forIknowdifferently.” “Good!youwereascollectedasmyselfatthismoment