ter with which he washed away the blood he
drank himself,[113] and made her drink also, and by this hateful
communion, he thought to bind fast her soul.

[113] This communion of blood prevailed among the Northern
_Reiters_. See my _Origines_.

This lasted two or three hours, and it was now near noon. The abbess
was scandalized. She resolved to go with the dinner herself, and make
them open the door. Girard took some tea: it being Friday, he
pretended to be fasting; though he had doubtless armed himself well at
Toulon. Cadiere asked for coffee. The lay sister who managed the
kitchen was surprised at this on such a day. But without that
strengthening draught she would have fainted away. It set her up a
little, and she kept hold of Girard still. He stayed with her, no
longer indeed locked in, till four o'clock, seeking to efface the
gloomy impression caused by his conduct in the morning. By dint of
lying about friendship and fatherhood, he somewhat reassured the
susceptible creature, and calmed her troubled spirits. She showed him
the way out, and, walking after him, took, childlike, two or three
skips for joy. He said, drily, "Little fool!"

* * * * *

She paid heavily for her weakness. At nine of that same night she had
a dreadful vision, and was heard crying out, "O God! keep off from me!
get back!" On the morning of the 8th, at mass she did not stay for the
communion, deeming herself, no doubt, unworthy, but made her escape
to her own room. Thereon arose much scandal. Yet so greatly was she
beloved, that one of the nuns ran after her, and, telling a
compassionate falsehood, swore she had beheld Jesus giving her the
sacrament with His own hand.

Madame Lescot delicately and cleverly wrote a legend out of the mystic
ejaculations, the holy sighs, the devout tears, and whatever else
burst forth from this shattered heart. Strange to say, these women
tenderly conspired to shield a woman. Nothing tells more than this in
behalf of poor Cadiere and her delightful gifts. Already in one
month's time she had become the child of all. They defended her in
everything she did. Innocent though she might be, they saw in her only
the victim of the Devil's attacks. One kind sturdy woman of the
people, Matherone, daughter of the Ollioules locksmith, and porteress
herself to the convent, on seeing some of Girard's indecent liberties,
said, in spite of them, "No matter: she is a saint." And when h