sound. Madeleine remained kneeling and did not once turn to look at her mother, but if she had done so she would have found the eyes closed at last, and nothing coming from her save her laboured breathing.
"Oh God! Help Eugene. Forgive him, through Christ our Lord."
As her lips trembled under the words she was suddenly conscious of eyes staring at her, and knew that her mother was watching her. She sensed the powerful body leaning towards her.
She spoke in a low voice, and Madeleine slightly turned to her, straining her ears to listen.
"What mother?"
"You have made up your mind, Madeleine?" she asked, and the slack of the beads swung to and fro as she spoke.
"You are sure of this, certain?"
"Yes mother, I know it is right. I will always be with you, mother."
"I'm old," her mother said, "I knew long ago."
"Yes," Madeleine said, "I know you are old. I have made up my mind."
"I only wished to be certain, Madeleine."
"I am certain. Isn't that enough?"
Madeleine watched the candles spluttering in their holders, the rock-still blooms in their vases.
"The priest was unable to come last evening, he was called out to the dying."
"Of course," her mother said, "one understands that, one is not stupid."
The church had become strangely silent. Madame Marius knew that at any moment now, the altar boys would come out through the little dark door, preceding Father Nollet. She took her daughter's hand and pressed it.
"Don't imagine I do not understand" she said, pressing more tightly, "I do. I am old. And you will not re-marry. Some things are always too late."
"Ssh!" Madeleine said.
The little procession came through the door and they both knelt down.
"Did you hear what I said?" whispered the old woman.
Madeleine fixed her eyes on the statue of St Joseph. She had heard, but would not answer. Some things were not discussed in the house of God. Later, Father Nollet was in the pulpit, speaking, but they did not hear him.
"What is that?" asked Madeleine, she glanced shyly about her.
"I said we've been here too long. That is all. I'll be glad to be out of it."
Madeleine was suddenly very close to her mother.
"You had a letter this morning. I saw it, I mean the postmark. From home?"
She never mentioned Nantes by name, simply referred to it as 'home'.
"From Father Gerard."
"What does he say?"
"I haven't read it."
They were suddenly silent for the blessing. Father Nollet followed the boys out, people were rising to their feet.
"Let us go."
"I'll just speak to the priest before I go," Madeleine said, and suddenly was gone.
Madame Marius knelt down again. "Help us now, Mighty God."
As she prayed she stared about the church, and behind her heard the steady, deep tick of the clock below the choir stall.
"I follow him because there is something he must tell us."
"And he can't hold it in much longer, it is too dreadful for that, he knows—and when he speaks I shall be satisfied. But what of her?"
She did not kneel long, her knees hurt, she rose and sat back in the seat.
"At the end one is always asking for help."
The rosary came alive in her hands, the beads moved through her fingers, she kneaded them, bead on bead, and stared at the Tabernacle.
"I shall be glad to get home, my back is aching a little, I hope she won't be too long."
She suddenly saw her daughter, she was at the breast, she saw her for the first time.
"Nature plays tricks, how plain she really is. Unlike the Marius lot, how handsome they were," and she felt again the full rigour of that initial shock.
"To-day she is as plain as a pancake."
She struggled to her feet, her sharp ear had already heard approaching footsteps. She put an arm through that of her daughter and they left the church.
"You have everything?"
"Everything."
"Then we will go back to that house" Madame Marius said.
There was something hesitant, uncertain in their very steps, as though this were a task, a duty to be done, the heart pulled another way.
On occasions the old woman
"Oh God! Help Eugene. Forgive him, through Christ our Lord."
As her lips trembled under the words she was suddenly conscious of eyes staring at her, and knew that her mother was watching her. She sensed the powerful body leaning towards her.
She spoke in a low voice, and Madeleine slightly turned to her, straining her ears to listen.
"What mother?"
"You have made up your mind, Madeleine?" she asked, and the slack of the beads swung to and fro as she spoke.
"You are sure of this, certain?"
"Yes mother, I know it is right. I will always be with you, mother."
"I'm old," her mother said, "I knew long ago."
"Yes," Madeleine said, "I know you are old. I have made up my mind."
"I only wished to be certain, Madeleine."
"I am certain. Isn't that enough?"
Madeleine watched the candles spluttering in their holders, the rock-still blooms in their vases.
"The priest was unable to come last evening, he was called out to the dying."
"Of course," her mother said, "one understands that, one is not stupid."
The church had become strangely silent. Madame Marius knew that at any moment now, the altar boys would come out through the little dark door, preceding Father Nollet. She took her daughter's hand and pressed it.
"Don't imagine I do not understand" she said, pressing more tightly, "I do. I am old. And you will not re-marry. Some things are always too late."
"Ssh!" Madeleine said.
The little procession came through the door and they both knelt down.
"Did you hear what I said?" whispered the old woman.
Madeleine fixed her eyes on the statue of St Joseph. She had heard, but would not answer. Some things were not discussed in the house of God. Later, Father Nollet was in the pulpit, speaking, but they did not hear him.
"What is that?" asked Madeleine, she glanced shyly about her.
"I said we've been here too long. That is all. I'll be glad to be out of it."
Madeleine was suddenly very close to her mother.
"You had a letter this morning. I saw it, I mean the postmark. From home?"
She never mentioned Nantes by name, simply referred to it as 'home'.
"From Father Gerard."
"What does he say?"
"I haven't read it."
They were suddenly silent for the blessing. Father Nollet followed the boys out, people were rising to their feet.
"Let us go."
"I'll just speak to the priest before I go," Madeleine said, and suddenly was gone.
Madame Marius knelt down again. "Help us now, Mighty God."
As she prayed she stared about the church, and behind her heard the steady, deep tick of the clock below the choir stall.
"I follow him because there is something he must tell us."
"And he can't hold it in much longer, it is too dreadful for that, he knows—and when he speaks I shall be satisfied. But what of her?"
She did not kneel long, her knees hurt, she rose and sat back in the seat.
"At the end one is always asking for help."
The rosary came alive in her hands, the beads moved through her fingers, she kneaded them, bead on bead, and stared at the Tabernacle.
"I shall be glad to get home, my back is aching a little, I hope she won't be too long."
She suddenly saw her daughter, she was at the breast, she saw her for the first time.
"Nature plays tricks, how plain she really is. Unlike the Marius lot, how handsome they were," and she felt again the full rigour of that initial shock.
"To-day she is as plain as a pancake."
She struggled to her feet, her sharp ear had already heard approaching footsteps. She put an arm through that of her daughter and they left the church.
"You have everything?"
"Everything."
"Then we will go back to that house" Madame Marius said.
There was something hesitant, uncertain in their very steps, as though this were a task, a duty to be done, the heart pulled another way.
On occasions the old woman
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