Belle Rose: A Romance of the Cloak and Sword — page 313: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A NEST IN A CONVENT. 295 ‘“Why did he not continue? He would have had less trouble to get himself killed.’’ ‘‘But he had pledged his word.”’ ‘‘And his word pledges his head, monsieur.”’ While Monsieur de Pomereux was at Chantilly with the Prince de Condé, and Monsieur de Charny with Monsieur de Louvois at Paris, the fugitives were blessing God who had protected them in their enterprise. No expression could paint the surprise of Belle-Rose and Suzanne when they saw the face of Madame de Chateaufort. Both looked at her in a frightened manner, while she advanced toward them, calm and smiling. It was no longer the same woman; grief had passed over that beautiful forehead, and it had left behind an unalterable sadness, spread like a vail over her features. ‘*Be without distrust,’’ she said to them; ‘‘this house is yours, and the hand of God is between you and those who hate you.”’ Genevieve embraced Suzanne and Claudine and saluted Belle-Rose with a pale and sweet smile. Belle-Rose found nothing to say in reply. In the heart of Suzanne there was no longer room for hatred. If jealousy awoke for a moment at sight of Gene- vieve, she quickly dismissed this sentiment, unworthy of both, and returned the abbess’ sisterly kiss. The nuns re- tired to their cells, and Genevieve herself showed the guests to the apartments destined for them. Belle-Rose, Cornelius, Déroute, and Grippard were established in a detached building in the gardens of the abbey; Suzanne and Claudine remained with the abbess. The next day at noon Madame de Chateaufort sent for Belle-Rose. She received him in an oratory whose only window opened upon a landscape such as Paul Poter loved. In the distance, a river—the Oise—bathed with its sluggish waters great plains adorned with poplars; on the misty horizon were the steeples of Anvers and Heron- ville, some cottages scattered here and there behind clumps of trees, weeping-willows along the streams, and in the grass a herd of cows ard oxen. The sun tinted these two landscapes with a golden light which seemed sifted by the fog. The merles whistled among the hedges, and the rattling of the cow-bells was heard in the mead- ows. A sort of monastic luxury shone in the oratory; the abbess had not been able to prevent herself remaining a great lady. The ivory Christ was the most beautiful model of Jean Goujon; the pictures attached tothe oak panels (E(@) AA ICeleyeye) Ss (E(0) =}