To put it briefly,--Vergniaud, for no particular
cause whatever, save perhaps the idea--(which may be only an idea)--
that he is going to die soon, has made a public confession of his
twenty-five-year-old crime and hypocrisy, in a blasphemous address
preached from the pulpit of Notre Dame de Lorette. The son, known to
the world as Gys Grandit, was present in the church, and fired a
pistol shot at his father, hoping to murder him,--then came the
theatrical denouement of the whole scene;--the Abbe ordered the
gendarmes to release the assassin, pronouncing him to be his son.
And finally--the saddest incident of all--there took place the
mutual pardon and reconciliation of both parties in the presence of
one of our most respected and beloved Princes of the Church,
Cardinal Felix Bonpre, whose grave error in this matter is causing
poignant and loving sorrow to the Holy Father!"
A curious expression began to appear in the delicate lines of
Aubrey's face--an expression which some of his London audiences knew
so well, and which generally meant war.
"You surprise me, Monsignor," he said in quiet accents,--"Events
move quickly, I know, in a quickly moving age,--still your news is
entirely unexpected. I never knew till now who the father of my
friend Gys Grandit was;--but now that I do know I think the public
confession you tell me of, was the only fitting reparation such a
man as the Abbe could make to the dead woman who was his wife in the
sight of God, as well as to his living son, and the public
generally.
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