worshiped in the magnificent abbey of St-Georges-de-Boscherville. Content to hear Mass like an invalid in the privacy of my own home, I had allowed myself increasingly to assume the habits of a recluse. And I began to see that there was perhaps some justification for the general belief that a madwoman and a monster inhabited the secluded house on the outskirts of the village. I must not continue to hide away like a mole in its burrow; I must show that I was prepared to fight for our right to be left in peace.
Throughout the service I was aware of heads turning furtively in my direction. A muted whispering permeated the sermon, and even the priest's steely gaze was not sufficient to quell it. My resolve trembled and I had a horrible urge to run out of the old church, but still I sat there stiffly, with my gloved hands folded over my prayer book, willing the service to come to an end.
"
Ite missa est
…" said Father Mansart at merciful length; and as the congregation shuffled to its feet I avoided the communal gaze by staring fixedly at the cherubs which decorated the transept.
Following Marie into the nave, I dropped my prayer book in my agitation, and the reverberating thud echoed unnaturally loud up into the vaulted roof. My glance went automatically to the gallery, and in the suffused light from the clerestory window I saw the figure of a young man looking down on me thoughtfully.
He made a formal little bow when he realized that I had seen him, and the unfamiliar courtesy of his gesture covered me with confusion. I had forgotten how to respond to such gestures in my years of solitude, forgotten how to play the simpering, empty-minded coquette. I felt extremely uncomfortable, and yet it was very hard to break that first revealing moment of eye contact.
"Who is that man?" I asked Marie, as we walked out into the fierce sunlight which was bathing the village green.
She smiled. "That is the new doctor, M. Barye."
"How long has he been in Boscherville?"
"About two months. But they say he will not stay. I believe he has very few patients because everyone still prefers to call in Doctor Gautier."
"How stupid!" I said, rather more sharply than I had meant to. "Doctor Gautier was in his dotage ten years ago —the man must be eighty at least."
Marie shrugged. "Well, you know what the village is. Mama says she would never dream of being examined by such a young man and she most certainly would not permit him to attend me."
"What does your mama suggest the young man do in the meantime? Is he to starve in the gutter until his beard turns gray?"
"Hush!" said Marie urgently. "He's coming out, he'll hear you."
Against all the instincts of good breeding I turned to look and found the young man's eyes once more fixed upon mine. Again he made that elegant little bow and bade us a good morning before going on his way with obvious reluctance.
Marie took my arm and with one accord we began to hurry down the road, away from his retreating figure. Suddenly, inexplicably, I found myself giggling, like the silly, frivolous creature I had once been; suddenly I was back in the convent, halfheartedly denying my interest in a handsome singing master.
"But of course I don't care for him, not a bit, not a bit…"
Seventeen once more, a pert little butterfly testing her wings after the restrictive, chrysalis years of a strict Catholic upbringing. Seventeen and ready to devour life in one eager greedy swallow…
The dusty, sunbaked road outside my house swam abruptly back into my vision and the sun winked on the new pane of glass that Erik had fitted into the dining room window. Eight years old and already he was as swift and efficient on simple tasks as the best workman in the village.
Why did I have the guilty feeling that I was about to commit the ultimate betrayal of his trust?
Etienne!
Etienne Barye! How quickly it happened!
How quickly he changed from the urbane young doctor who greeted me with such studied civility every Sunday
Throughout the service I was aware of heads turning furtively in my direction. A muted whispering permeated the sermon, and even the priest's steely gaze was not sufficient to quell it. My resolve trembled and I had a horrible urge to run out of the old church, but still I sat there stiffly, with my gloved hands folded over my prayer book, willing the service to come to an end.
"
Ite missa est
…" said Father Mansart at merciful length; and as the congregation shuffled to its feet I avoided the communal gaze by staring fixedly at the cherubs which decorated the transept.
Following Marie into the nave, I dropped my prayer book in my agitation, and the reverberating thud echoed unnaturally loud up into the vaulted roof. My glance went automatically to the gallery, and in the suffused light from the clerestory window I saw the figure of a young man looking down on me thoughtfully.
He made a formal little bow when he realized that I had seen him, and the unfamiliar courtesy of his gesture covered me with confusion. I had forgotten how to respond to such gestures in my years of solitude, forgotten how to play the simpering, empty-minded coquette. I felt extremely uncomfortable, and yet it was very hard to break that first revealing moment of eye contact.
"Who is that man?" I asked Marie, as we walked out into the fierce sunlight which was bathing the village green.
She smiled. "That is the new doctor, M. Barye."
"How long has he been in Boscherville?"
"About two months. But they say he will not stay. I believe he has very few patients because everyone still prefers to call in Doctor Gautier."
"How stupid!" I said, rather more sharply than I had meant to. "Doctor Gautier was in his dotage ten years ago —the man must be eighty at least."
Marie shrugged. "Well, you know what the village is. Mama says she would never dream of being examined by such a young man and she most certainly would not permit him to attend me."
"What does your mama suggest the young man do in the meantime? Is he to starve in the gutter until his beard turns gray?"
"Hush!" said Marie urgently. "He's coming out, he'll hear you."
Against all the instincts of good breeding I turned to look and found the young man's eyes once more fixed upon mine. Again he made that elegant little bow and bade us a good morning before going on his way with obvious reluctance.
Marie took my arm and with one accord we began to hurry down the road, away from his retreating figure. Suddenly, inexplicably, I found myself giggling, like the silly, frivolous creature I had once been; suddenly I was back in the convent, halfheartedly denying my interest in a handsome singing master.
"But of course I don't care for him, not a bit, not a bit…"
Seventeen once more, a pert little butterfly testing her wings after the restrictive, chrysalis years of a strict Catholic upbringing. Seventeen and ready to devour life in one eager greedy swallow…
The dusty, sunbaked road outside my house swam abruptly back into my vision and the sun winked on the new pane of glass that Erik had fitted into the dining room window. Eight years old and already he was as swift and efficient on simple tasks as the best workman in the village.
Why did I have the guilty feeling that I was about to commit the ultimate betrayal of his trust?
Etienne!
Etienne Barye! How quickly it happened!
How quickly he changed from the urbane young doctor who greeted me with such studied civility every Sunday
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