She did not put it into
words, but the thought was bluntly in her mind. She looked at him, and
her eyes filled with tears, which dropped down her cheek to the ground.
He was about to answer her question, when, all at once, her honest eyes
looked into his mournfully, and she said with an incredible pathos and
simplicity:
"I don't know how I am going to live on with Magon. I suppose I'll have
to keep pretending till I die!"
The bell in the church was ringing for vespers. It sounded peaceful and
quiet, as though no war, or rebellion, or misery and shame, were anywhere
within the radius of its travel.
Just where they stood there was a tall calvary. Behind it was some
shrubbery. Ferrol was going to answer her, when he saw, coming along the
road, the Cure in his robes, bearing the host. In front of him trotted
an acolyte, swinging the censer.
Ferrol quickly drew Sophie aside behind the bushes, where they should not
be seen; for he was no longer reckless. He wished to be careful for the
woman's sake.
The Curb did not turn his head to the right or left, but came along
chanting something slowly. The smell of the incense floated past them.
When the priest and the lad reached the calvary they turned towards it,
bowed, crossed themselves, and the lad rang a little silver bell.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98