CHAPTER X.

MISTRESS AND MAN.

Night has returned. Clad in her monastic vestments, the abbess Meroflede reclines on the lounge in the banquet hall where the evening before Amael was seated near her. The woman's pale face has a sinister aspect. Seated opposite her at the table lighted by a wax taper, Ricarik had been writing under the dictation of the abbess.

"Madam," said Ricarik, "you need only to attach your signature to the letter for the Bishop of Nantes," and seeing that, absorbed in her own thoughts, Meroflede did not answer, the intendant repeated in a louder voice: "Madam, I am waiting for your signature."

Her forehead resting on her hand, her eye fixed, her bosom heaving, Meroflede said to her intendant in a slow and hollow voice: "What did Berthoald have to say this morning when you went to see him in his prison?"

"He remained silent and somber."

The abbess rose brusquely and paced the hall in great agitation. Overpowering the storm within her breast she said to the intendant:

"Go and bring me Berthoald."

"Madam!... Is it you who issue such an order?"

"I have commanded; obey without delay."

"But the messenger whom you sent for is waiting for this letter to the Bishop of Nantes. The boat is ready with its oarsmen."

"The Bishop of Nantes will receive my missive a day later. Fetch me Berthoald!"

"I obey the orders of my noble mistress."

Ricarik walked slowly towards the entrance of the hall and was about to disappear behind the curtain when, after another equally violent struggle, Meroflede called to him: "No ... come back!" and letting herself heavily down upon the lounge, the abbess covered her face with her hands, uttering prolonged and woeful moans that resembled the howlings of a wounded she-wolf. The intendant drew near and waited in silence for the crisis that was convulsing his mistress to spend itself. A few seconds later the abbess rose again. Her cheeks were inflamed; her eyes shot fire, her lips curled disdainfully. "I am too weak!" she cried. "Oh, that man! that man! He shall pay dearly for what he makes me suffer!" Again Meroflede paced the hall in violent agitation, but presently she grew calmer, sat down upon the lounge and said to the intendant: "Read me the letter over again.... I was temporarily insane!"

The intendant read:

* * * * *

"Meroflede, the maid-servant of the maid-servants of the Lord, to her beloved father in Christ, Arsene, Bishop of the diocese of Nantes, respectful greeting. Very beloved father, the Lord has shown by a wonderful miracle what terrible punishment he reserves for the wicked who wrong him in the person of his poor hand-maids. Charles, the chief of the Franks, contemner of all divine laws, desolator of the Church, devastator of faithful women, had the sacrilegious audacity of bestowing upon a band of his warriors the possession of this abbey, a patrimony of God. The chief of these adventurers summoned me outrageously to vacate this monastery, adding that if I did not obey, he would attack us by main force at daybreak. In order to be nearer to their damnable work, these accursed men camped over night behind one of the approaches of the abbey. But the eye of the Lord watched over us. The Almighty has known how to defend us against the ravishing wolf. During the night the cataracts of heaven opened with a frightful crash. The waters of the ponds, miraculously swollen, swallowed up the sacrilegious warriors. Not one of them escaped the punishment of heaven! It was a terrible prodigy! Red lights shimmered at the bottom of the waves as if a mouth of hell had opened to recover its detestable prey. The justice of the Lord being accomplished, the waters again became calm and limpid, and peacefully returned to their bed. So that, after the deluge the white dove of peace and hope winged its flight out of the holy ark. This letter, oh, my venerable father in Christ, is to notify you of the miracle. This fresh proof of the omnipotence of the Lord will serve to edify, comfort, console and delight all pious, and terrify the impious. I close asking your apostolic benediction."

* * * * *

After Ricarik had finished reading this pious letter he again said to the abbess: "Madam, may it please you to sign."

Meroflede took the pen and wrote at the bottom, "MEROFLEDE, ABBESS OF MERIADEK," after which she said with a satanic leer: "The Bishop of Nantes is a skilful man; he will know how to make the miracle tell; a century hence people will speak of the prodigy to which the virgins of the convent of Meriadek owed their deliverance." An instant later she said distractedly: "The fires of hell are burning in my veins!"

"What, madam, are you still thinking of Berthoald? How strong an impression must he have made upon you!"

"What I feel for that man is a mixture of contempt, hatred and amorous frenzy.... I am frightened at my own feelings.... No other man ever inspired me with such a passion!"

"There is a very simple method of ridding yourself of these agonies.... I proposed the method to you.... I am ready to apply it."

"Take care! No violence upon him! Your life answers to me for his!"

"What are your intentions?"

"I do not know what to decide upon.... One moment I wish him to undergo a thousand deaths ... the next I am ready to fall at his knees, and ask pardon.... I am out of my mind ... out of my mind with love!" And the abbess wrung her hands, bit into the cushions of the lounge, and tore them with her nails in savage fury. Suddenly rising, her eyes wet with tears and glistening with passion, she cried: "Give me the key of Berthoald's prison!"

"It is on this bunch," answered the intendant pointing to several keys that hung from his belt.

"Give me that one quick!"

"Here it is," said the intendant, detaching a large iron key from the bunch. Meroflede took the key, contemplated it in silence, and fell into a revery.

"Madam," said Ricarik, "I shall order the messenger in waiting to depart with your letter to the Bishop of Nantes."

"Go.... Go.... Take the letter and return!"

"I shall also take a look at the old goldsmith's shop.... He is to cast the large silver vase to-day!"

"Oh! What do I care!"

"There is a vague suspicion in my mind. I imagined this morning I noticed a sign of embarrassment on the face of the wily old man. He told me he was to lock himself in the whole day. I suspect he has a plot with his apprentices to pilfer a portion of the metal. He also notified me the casting would not commence until night. I wish to see how it is done. I shall then come back, madam. Have you any other orders for me, my abbess?"

Meroflede remained plunged in revery, holding in her hand the key of Amael's prison. After a few seconds of silence, and without raising her eyes that remained fixed upon the floor, she said to the intendant:

"When you go out, tell Madeleine to bring me my cloak and a lighted lamp."

"Your cloak, madam? Do you expect to go out? Do you need it to go to Berthoald in his prison----?"

Meroflede interrupted the intendant by stamping her foot in a rage, and pointed him to the door with an imperious gesture, saying:

"Begone, vile slave!"