“Good M. Traviès!” said the Duke. “He is an excellent priest, but an inveterate sportsman, and all he thinks of is shooting. The other day, on returning from the administration of extreme unction to a dying man, he brought down three partridges.” “Now that the branches are devoid of leaves,” said the Abbé, “you can see the chapel, which, in the summer, is entirely hidden by the thick foliage.” “One of the reasons which made me determine to rebuild the chapel of Notre-Dame-des-Belles-Feuilles,” said the Duke, “was that on examining the family archives, I found that the battle-cry of the Brécés was ‘Brécé Notre-Dame!’” “How very strange!” remarked General Cartier de Chalmot. “Is it not?” replied Madame de Brécé. Just as the ladies, followed by M. Lerond, were crossing the rustic bridge that spans the stream, a ragged girl of thirteen or fourteen, with hair of the same dirty white colour as her face, slipping from a copse on the opposite side of the hollow, ran up the steps and rushed into the oratory. “There’s Honorine,” said Madame de Brécé. “I’ve been wanting to see her for a long time,” said M. Lerond, “and I must thank you, Madame, for being the means of satisfying my curiosity. I have heard so much about her!” “Yes, indeed,” said General Cartier de Chalmot. “The young girl in question has been subjected to many and searching inquiries.” “M. de Goulet,” put in the Abbé, “comes regularly to the sanctuary of Notre-Dame-des-Belles-Feuilles. It is his pleasure and delight to spend long hours in adoration of her whom he calls his mother.” “We are very fond of M. de Goulet,” said Madame de Brécé. “What a pity it is that he should be so delicate.” “Yes, alas!” replied the Abbé. “His strength diminishes from day to day!” “He ought to take more care of himself,” went on the Duchess, “and rest as much as possible.” “How can he, Madame?” asked the Abbé. “The management of the diocese fills up every moment of his time.” As the three ladies, the General, M. Guitrel, M. Lerond, and the Duke entered the chapel, they saw Honorine, as in an ecstasy, kneeling at the foot of the altar. With clasped hands, and uplifted head, the child knelt there motionless. Out of respect for her mysterious condition, they crossed themselves silently with holy water, letting their gaze wander from the Gothic tabernacle and fall upon the stained-glass windows, in which the Comte de Chambord appeared in the guise of St. Henry, while the faces of St. John the Baptist and St. Guy were executed from photographs of Comte Jean, who died in 1867, and the late Comte Guy, who, in 1871, was a member of the Bordeaux Assembly. The miraculous statue was covered by a veil, and stood just over the altar. But above the holy-water stoup, painted in bright colours upon the wall was a full-length figure of Notre-Dame de Lourdes, girdled with blue.