Her heart had overflowed like a fountain of wine,
intoxicating all about her with joy at the hope of the speedy coming
of her bridegroom. Suddenly the idols of her life had been
shattered as by a thunderbolt, and lay in fragments around her feet.
The thought came upon her like the rush of angry wings. She knew
that all was over between her and Pierre. The cloister and the veil
were all that were left to Amelie de Repentigny.
"Heloise, dearest sister!" exclaimed she, "my conscience tells me I
have done right, but my heart accuses me of wrong to Pierre, of
falseness to my plighted vows in forsaking him; and yet, not for
heaven itself would I have forsaken Pierre. Would that I were dead!
Oh, what have I done, Heloise, to deserve such a chastisement as
this from God?"
Amelie threw her arms around the neck of Heloise, and leaning her
head on her bosom, wept long and without restraint, for none saw
them save God.
"Listen!" said Heloise, as the swelling strain of the organ floated
up from the convent chapel. The soft voices of the nuns mingled in
plaintive harmony as they sang the hymn of the Virgin:
"Pia Mater! Fons amoris!
Me sentire vim doloris
Fac, ut tecum lugeam!"
Again came the soft pleading notes of the sacred hymn:
"Quando corpus morietur,
Fac ut animae donetur
Paradisi gloria! Amen!"
The harmony filled the ears of Amelie and Heloise, like the lap of
the waves of eternity upon the world's shore.
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