of some deep and burning passion, were crowned with eyebrows so perfectly
arched that Nature herself seemed to have taken as much pains to form
them as the Circassian women to pencil theirs artistically; but between
them a slight fold revealed the powerful agitation within. In her
movements, however, and throughout her whole bearing, she affected
perfect calm; her steps were slow and measured, and her beautiful hands
were crossed on her bosom, as white and motionless as those of the marble
statues joined in eternal prayer.

"See, aunt," ejaculated Martine, "see how Sister Agnes and Sister Claire
are weeping, next to the Superior!"

"Ay, niece, they weep because they are the prey of the demon."

"Or rather," interposed the same manly voice that spoke before, "because
they repent of having mocked Heaven."

A deep silence now pervaded the multitude; not a word was heard, not a
movement, hardly a breath. Every one seemed paralyzed by some sudden
enchantment, when, following the nuns, among four Penitents who held him
in chains, appeared the Cure of the Church of Ste. Croix, attired in his
pastor's robe. His was a noble, fine face, with grandeur in its whole
expression, and gentleness in every feature. Affecting no scornful
indifference to his position, he looked calmly and kindly around, as if
he sought on his dark path the affectionate glances of those who loved
him. Nor did he seek in vain; here and there he encountered those
glances, and joyfully returned them. He even heard sobs, and he saw
hands extended toward him, many of which grasped weapons. But no gesture
of his encouraged these mute offers of aid; he lowered his eyes and went
on, careful not to compromise those who so trusted in him, or to involve