Chapter XIV: A Strange Interview

Early on the following morning Alide left the house alone. Her grave, preoccupied air, her firm, self-confident carriage, no less than her bourgeois attire, were sufficient protection for her in the city streets. She directed her steps towards the Cathedral, walking as securely and fearlessly as though she were in the meadows at home. She was sick at heart, faint and terrified at the shadow which she foresaw about to fall upon her life, and she had need of solemn meditation and prayer. It was not the hour of service, but the organ was playing, and there were a few worshipers scattered among the aisles. Not far from the entrance knelt a woman in mourning, her face buried in her hands, and her form occasionally convulsed by stifled sobs. Alide could not fail to see her, and a sharp pang of pity smote her heart; but the stranger's grief was sacred, and at that moment beyond her compassion, and, averting her eyes, she glanced up at the altar, bowed her head meekly, folded her hands upon her breast, and sank down upon her knees.

What a throng of powerful emotions filled her heart to bursting and sent the hot tears streaming from her eyes! Could that terrible nightmare be the end of her beautiful dream? With all her might she strove to put the evil thought away from her; she denied it utterly, she tried to stifle it by directing her mind to the contemplation of things holy and eternal. This was the source whence she had never yet failed to draw serenity and courage, and to-day again she succeeded insomuch that when she rose to leave the Minster she was once more at peace. As she walked slowly down the long aisle, she was startled by seeing that the mourner whom she had remarked on entering had fallen from her kneeling posture and was lying motionless with her face downward. She advanced towards her and touched her gently on the shoulder. The woman did not move. "Mein Gott! if she be dead!" thought Alide, in affright, and looked around for help; but there was nobody near, and she did not dare to profane the sacred quiet of the place by a cry or a call. She stooped over the prostrate figure, disencumbered the head from the heavy folds of the veil, and with an effort upraised the face. It was that of a woman scarcely older than herself, of a strange, severe beauty, and its deathly pallor was heightened by the intense blackness of the thick masses of hair that waved over the forehead.

"Poor thing! but it is only a faint," said Alide to herself, as she perceived the slight rise and fall of the woman's chest; and, gently leaning the passive form against a column, she hastened away to beg the assistance of the sacristan. With his aid she gradually succeeded in restoring life to the sick woman, who stirred, opened her closely-locked lips, and raised her large, dark eyes with a bewildered expression. Alide spoke to her, and offered her some water to drink.

"You have not been well, my friend," said she: "are you strong enough now to let us help you out of the church, where you can breathe some fresh air?"

The woman looked at her with a grateful expression, but did not answer; she drank the water which Alide held out to her, and then said, in a low voice, as if she did not expect to be understood, "Je ne comprends pas," and made an effort to rise to her feet.

"Ah, she is a foreigner," grumbled the sacristan. "What is to be done, Fräulein?"

"That is nothing; I will make her understand," replied Alide; and she repeated in French what she had already said. She herself, as her name betokened, was of French descent, and the pastor had instructed his children in that language, which they spoke with rare sweetness and precision.

The stranger looked at her in surprise, and a smile of satisfaction lit up her austere features. "Ah, how good it is to hear one's own language like that!" said she. "You are an angel, mademoiselle. Yes, I am quite strong enough, if this good man will lend me his arm to go into the air. That is what I need. This hot building stifled me; I thought the walls were closing in upon me, I felt myself fall, and then--nothing! Did I cry out? where did you come from? how did you find me?"

She had a wild, almost fierce look in her large eyes, and her voice sounded rather too loud to Alide for the sacred edifice.

"Never mind that now, my friend," answered she: "I will tell you all when we get outside. Only now try to walk a step."

They helped her to her feet, and, leaning heavily on the sacristan's arm, she succeeded in reaching the vestry-room. In spite of her weakness, she absolutely refused to take Alide's hand to enable her to walk, but nevertheless begged her to sit with her a little while until she felt able to go into the street again. The window was open, and the fresh air soon revived her. She sat without speaking, drinking in the soft summer breeze, with her eyes fixed upon the sky. Great tears quivered upon her lashes, but did not fall. Alide had never seen anything more beautiful and more melancholy than this strange face. The features were regular in outline, and severe to sternness, and yet the expression was that of a passionate nature, owing to the sensuous effect of heavy eyebrows that met over the nose, the peculiar glance of the eyes, and the bold appearance given to the whole face by the arrangement of the hair, which was parted at the side, overshadowing with its luxuriance the square forehead. If she had not been so sad, Alide would almost have experienced a sensation of fear. As it was, her tender heart was overflowing with a vast pity; she wondered what the stranger's trouble was, and if it could not be alleviated. But no,--those black mourning robes proved too plainly a trouble that could know no compensation on earth. Thank God, she had been spared an affliction like that! If Wolfgang had died,--no, she could not endure the thought. And to think that this morning she had been miserable, because for a single day he had not cherished her with his wonted devotion! Now she was brought in the presence of grief, and what a mockery it made of her imaginary trouble! Who could be gentle enough to one who had suffered as this poor girl? Actuated by a sudden strong impulse of sympathy and tenderness, Alide stood up by the stranger's side, and, bending over her, kissed her forehead. The woman started and looked at her in amazement; the tears that had stood in her eyes gathered and streamed down her pale cheeks.

"You are an angel of heaven!" she cried. "I am not worthy to touch your pure, kind hand, and you do not hesitate to kiss my brow. But do not be afraid," she added, drawing back; "I will not harm you, I will not come near you; but the good God will let me breathe for a little while the atmosphere of one so pure and so gentle, and only He knows how I have suffered." And, once more averting her head, she leaned against the window and looked up at the sky.

Alide was indeed a little frightened, but her compassion overpowered all other feelings, and, advancing again, she said, "Are you not my sister in Christ? You cannot harm me, my poor girl, but I may help you. You have been ill just now, and you must not excite yourself like this. Sit down by my side, and perhaps you will grow calmer."

The woman dropped upon her knees before Alide, buried her head in the young girl's lap, and sobbed aloud. For a long time Alide talked to her as wisely as she knew, about the blessed consolations of a faith that promised everlasting mercy to the repentant sinner. It was not her words, which were the ordinary commonplaces of every priest and parson, but it was the earnest conviction, the simple piety, and, more than all, the unexampled kindness and sympathy, that softened and quieted the poor, fallen creature at her feet. She listened as if in a dream of peace to this gentle young girl, who seemed to her a living saint; but she did not confess herself: she felt that it would have been a wrong to that innocent, candid soul. At last they separated; the stranger insisted that she was quite able to find her way home alone, and she would not hear of Alide's taking a step with her in the street. Again and again she thanked her for her angelic kindness, and kissed reverently and humbly the hand which Alide offered her at parting. "May I ask you one thing more, mademoiselle?" she said, timidly, after taking a last, long look at the noble, delicate face before her. "Your name?"

"Alide Duroc. And yours, that I may pray for you?"

"Lucinda."