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They had been talking it over again: the journey through the forest, the conflict at the hut, the day in the hills. "Peace," said madame. "Peace and love," said the Chevalier. "And that poor father of yours! But you forgave him?" "Yes." "And Jehan will not tell you who Sister Benie was?" "No. And he appears so terrified when I mention the matter that I shall make no further inquiries."
He dreaded to remain with this fierce-eyed old man from whom nothing seemed hidden, not even secret thought. "She is an excellent nurse." "She will please me better than Monsieur le Comte." The title stirred Brother Jacques strangely. "But give her to understand," added the marquis, "that I want no canting Loyola. Who is this Sister Benie?" "She is of the Ursulines."
In his arms he held a small white child which had sprained its weak ankle while playing on the lumber pile outside the convent of the Ursulines. Sister Benie was quick to note how tenderly he held the sobbing child. "Give him to me, Monsieur," she said, her velvet eyes moist with pity.
Soldiers and trappers and Indians passed them on the way up, touching their caps and hats; for Sister Benie was known from Montreal to Tadousac. Suddenly Sister Benie gave a low cry and pressed a hand upon her heart. "Sister, you are ill?" asked her companion. "A dizziness; it is gone now." Presently she caught the arm of a gentleman who was passing.
"Come, my friends," said Brother Jacques, "and I will show you the path which leads to the citadel." And the three proceeded up the incline. Sister Benie of the Ursulines was passing along the narrow road which led to the river.
But as he entered the chamber he purposely left open the door so that the Chevalier might hear what passed. "Ah! it is you," said the marquis. "Let me thank you for bringing that nurse." "Sister Benie?" "Yes. You do not know, then, from what family she originated?" "No, Monsieur." "Who knows?" "The Mother Superior. Monsieur, I have news for you. I bring you peace." "Peace?" "Yes.
The marquis was throwing aside the coverlet. "Father!" cried the Chevalier. "Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" the marquis cried. "My clothes, my clothes! Help me! I must dress!" With trembling hands Jehan did as his master bade him. The Chevalier, appalled, glanced first at his father, then at Brother Jacques and Sister Benie. He leaned against the wall, dazed; understood nothing of this scene.
Then he gazed reproachfully, almost vindictively, at the uplifted eyes of the transfigured Virgin. "Now, you!" he growled. "Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes! This affair is in your line. Why don't you help? Saperlotte! The girl is worth it." The Wanderers beat Chantilly. One minute before the close of the fourth chukkur the score stood at four all.
"Do I look ill?" querulously. "You are burning with fever." She drew the cool palm of her hand across his heated forehead. "Jehan!" called the marquis. The touch of that hand had caused him an indescribable sensation. "I am here, Monsieur," replied Jehan. Sister Benie leaned back out of the sunlight. "A pitcher of water; I am thirsty." Jehan took the pitcher fumblingly.
Up and down the winding path settlers, soldiers, merchants, trappers and Indians straggled, with an occasional seigneur lending to the scene the pomp of a vanished Court. Far away the priest could see a hawk, circling and circling in the summer sky. Now and then a dove flashed by, and a golden bumblebee blundered into the chamber. "I will fetch Sister Benie," Brother Jacques said at length.
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