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Updated: June 21, 2025
Passing into the chapel, he kneeled long before the shrine of Saint Joseph praying, with an intense fervour of petition, that his warning might reach the Knight before any word had passed his lips which could shake Mora's belief in that which was to her the sole justification for the important step she had taken. The Bishop prayed and fasted; fasted, prayed, and kept vigil.
Still the same title: Chinoiseries, and an M. for signature. "Aha!" said the public man, as unmoved and cold as marble, with a fine, scornful smile. Mora's lesson was still ringing in his ears, and even if he had forgotten it, the air from Norma in jerky, ironical little notes not far away would have sufficed to remind him of it.
Perhaps it had better be I, because I can run into Djenan el Djouad first, and send my man Saunders to watch De Mora's other gate, and make assurance doubly sure." "You're a brick, Wings," said Stephen. Lady MacGregor had sat up in order to hear the news, and was delighted with Nevill's plan, especially the part which concerned Stephen, and his proposed adventure on the Charles Quex.
"On no account let Mora know that which I told you here, four days since, as we paced the lawn; namely: that the old lay-sister, Mary Antony, was aware of your visit to the Convent, and had, from some place of concealment, seen and heard much of what passed in Mora's cell. How far you realised this, when I made mention of it, I know not. You made no comment.
Meanwhile I was surprised to see no signs of preparation for the supper mentioned on the invitations, and I expressed my anxiety in an undertone to one of my lovely nieces, who replied: "We are waiting for M. Louis." "M. Louis?" "What! Don't you know M. Louis, the Duc de Mora's valet de chambre?"
"Meanwhile the agèd lay-sister died yesterday, after having mystified the entire Community by locking herself into the Prioress's cell, and remaining there, from the time she found it empty when the nuns returned from Vespers, until I arrived on the following afternoon. She thus prevented any questionings concerning Mora's flight, and averted possible scandal.
"What! why he is frightful! You can't have had a good look at him." "Indeed I did, on the contrary. He was opposite us. That white Ethiopian visage would be superb in marble. And not commonplace, at all events. Moreover, if he's so ugly as all that, you won't be so unhappy as you were last year when I was doing Mora's bust. What a wicked face you had at that time, Jenkins!"
The prediction of Mora's valet with regard to the marquis was fulfilled: "We may die or lose our power, then you will be called to account and it will be a terrible time." It was a terrible time.
This was not the first of the Irishman's patients whom he had seen fall suddenly to pieces thus; but he trusted that Mora's death would be a salutary warning to people in society, and that the prefect of police, as the result of this great calamity, would send the "dealer in cantharides," to advertise his aphrodisiacs on the other side of the Channel.
The neighbourhood of this dying celebrity of which the hotel-keeper was proud, and which he would have liked to charge in the bill the name of Brehat, which de Gery had so often heard pronounced with admiration in Felicia Ruys's studio, brought back his thoughts to the beautiful face, with its pure lines, which he had last seen in the Bois de Boulogue, leaning on Mora's shoulder.
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