LOUIS DE BRISSAC."
"De Brissac?"
Brother Jacques's brows met in the effort to recall the significance of
this name. Ah! the Grande Madame whom the Chevalier, his brother,
loved: his brother. His brother. Brother Jacques had forgotten his
brother. He raised his eyes toward heaven, as if to make an appeal;
but his gaze dropped quickly and roved. Somehow, he could not look to
heaven; the sun was too bright. He saw the figures of a man and woman
who were leaning against the parapet. The man's arm was clasped around
the woman's waist, their heads were close together, and they seemed to
be looking toward the south, as indeed they were. Lovers, mused
Brother Jacques. Why not he, too? Had not the marquis said that he
was too handsome for a priest? Why should he not be a lover, likewise?
A lover, indeed, when the one woman he loved was at this very hour
praying in the Convent of the Ursulines! Presently the man below
turned his head. It was the Chevalier. . . . This time, when Brother
Jacques raised his eyes toward God, his gaze did not falter. He had
cursed the author of his being, which was very close to cursing his
God.
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