The generous conduct of madame called tears of gratitude into the eyes
of Julia, who now awoke from the state of stupefaction which distress
had caused. But before she could thank her faithful friend, a nun
entered the room with a summons for madame to attend the Abate
immediately. The distress which this message occasioned can not easily
be conceived. Madame advised Julia to escape while she detained the
Abate in conversation, as it was not probable that he had yet issued
orders for her detention. Leaving her to this attempt, with an
assurance of following her from the abbey as soon as possible, madame
obeyed the summons. The coolness of her fortitude forsook her as she
approached the Abate's apartment, and she became less certain as to
the occasion of this summons.
The Abate was alone. His countenance was pale with anger, and he was
pacing the room with slow but agitated steps. The stern authority of
his look startled her. 'Read this letter,' said he, stretching forth
his hand which held a letter, 'and tell me what that mortal deserves,
who dares insult our holy order, and set our sacred prerogative at
defiance.' Madame distinguished the handwriting of the marquis, and
the words of the Superior threw her into the utmost astonishment. She
took the letter. It was dictated by that spirit of proud vindictive
rage, which so strongly marked the character of the marquis. Having
discovered the retreat of Julia, and believing the monastery afforded
her a willing sanctuary from his pursuit, he accused the Abate of
encouraging his child in open rebellion to his will. He loaded him and
his sacred order with opprobrium, and threatened, if she was not
immediately resigned to the emissaries in waiting, he would in person
lead on a force which should compel the church to yield to the
superior authority of the father.
The spirit of the Abate was roused by this menace; and Julia
obtained from his pride, that protection which neither his principle
or his humanity would have granted. 'The man shall tremble,' cried he,
'who dares defy our power, or question our sacred authority. The lady
Julia is safe. I will protect her from this proud invader of our
rights, and teach him at least to venerate the power he cannot
conquer. I have dispatched his emissaries with my answer.'
These words struck sudden joy upon the heart of Madame de Menon, but
she instantly recollected, that ere this time Julia had quitted the
abbey, and thus the very precaution which was meant to ensure her
safety, had probably precipitated her into the hand of her enemy. This
thought changed her joy to anguish; and she was hurrying from the
apartment in a sort of wild hope, that Julia might not yet be gone,
when the stern voice of the Abate arrested her. 'Is it thus,' cried
he, 'that you receive the knowledge of our generous resolution to
protect your friend? Does such condescending kindness merit no
thanks--demand no gratitude?' Madame returned in an agony of fear,
lest one moment of delay might prove fatal to Julia, if haply she had
not yet quitted the monastery. She was conscious of her deficiency in
apparent gratitude, and of the strange appearance of her abrupt
departure from the Abate, for which it was impossible to apologize,
without betraying the secret, which would kindle all his resentment.