Manuela
bought a candle from the keeper of the little lodge at the
entrance, and pausing one instant by the great sun-dial to see if
the heavens and the hour were propitious, glided into the tiny
chapel, dim and stifling with heavy air from myriad wish-candles
blazing on the wide table before the altar-rail. She said her
prayer and lighting her candle placed it with the others.
Mon Dieu! how brightly the sun seemed to shine now, she thought,
pausing at the door on her way out. Her small finger-tips, still
bedewed with holy water, rested caressingly on a gamin's head.
The ivy which enfolds the quaint chapel never seemed so green;
the shrines which serve as the Way of the Cross never seemed so
artistic; the baby graves, even, seemed cheerful.
Theophile called Sunday. Manuela's heart leaped. He had been
spending his Sundays with Claralie. His stay was short and he
was plainly bored. But Manuela knelt to thank the good St.
Rocque that night, and fondled the charm about her slim waist.
There came a box of bonbons during the week, with a decorative
card all roses and fringe, from Theophile; but being a Creole,
and therefore superstitiously careful, and having been reared by
a wise and experienced maman to mistrust the gifts of a recreant
lover, Manuela quietly thrust bonbons, box, and card into the
kitchen fire, and the Friday following placed the second candle
of her nouvena in St.
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