The following afternoon we went to the Jesuits for benediction--to me the sweetest service of the day. It was already growing dark as we entered. Within, the narrow windows broke the blackness of the walls with their slits of dull gray, and the worshippers sate or knelt in the twilight, a shadowy throng, over which the twinkling flood of light from countless tapers on the altar broke in yellow softness. The peaceful, tender service was in perfect harmony with the quiet of the evening, and I felt my heart filled with a great comfort; when suddenly from the loft behind us, where the musicians stood, floated out the familiar words, Tantum ergo sacramentum Veneremur cernui... and I sank trembling to my knees, for the voice to me was as the voice of an angel--it was Hugh's! I covered my face with my hands and wept silent, blessed tears of joy, while the beautiful hymn thrilled through my very soul. [Illustration: "Tantum ergo sacramentum Veneremur cernui..."] "It is M. de Maxwell," whispered Angelique; but I could make no answer. As I walked home with Angelique, her enthusiastic praise of Hugh stirred in me no spark of resentment, much less of jealousy; her satisfaction that I should have seen and admired was so honest and open, and the glimpse I had caught of his bearing towards her was so reassuring, that I was undisturbed. In spite of the truculent suggestions of M. de Sarennes, and even in the face of my own doubts and fears and pride, I was so won back to the old dreamings, so reawakened to the old longings, that I felt nothing less than his own words could ever satisfy me that I had been mistaken. After all, I could not see that I ran any serious risk in meeting him; in such a place as Quebec it was likely to happen at any moment; and surely it were better to take place when I was prepared. At the worst, my position as Mme. de St. Just would still serve to stand between us, and I felt assured I could rely on his forbearance. However, I was not suffered to come to any conclusion, for Mme. de Sarennes met us as we entered, with tidings that drove everything else out of my head for the moment. "Marguerite, I have news for you. La mere de Ste. Helene sends word, saying an Englishwoman has been brought to the Hotel-Dieu, and from the description I believe her to be Lucie. Do you both go at once and ascertain." We hurried off in great excitement, and an interview with the Superior satisfied us that the patient was indeed my poor Lucy. She had been found that very morning, wandering in a benumbed and dazed condition on the road by the St. Charles, by a habitant coming with his load to early market, and as he had business at the Hotel-Dieu, he had carried her there and given her in charge of the nuns. She was much exhausted by cold and fasting, but sleep and food had restored her to consciousness, and, on finding she was English, they had at once sent us word.