But Suzanne, trembling all over, remained silent.

XXXIX.

THE DEVIL IN PETTICOATS.

  “I know an infallible means of
  drawing you back from the precipice
  on which you stand.”

  CHARLES (Des Illustres Francaises).

—­Wretch that I am.  I have defiled a pure confiding child, who came in all loyalty to sit at my fire-side.  Vile and cowardly nature, like some base Lovelace, I have grossly abused the confidence which was placed in me.  My priestly robe, far from being a safeguard, is but a cloke for my iniquities.  I have reached that pitch of cowardice that I am no longer master of myself.

Incapable of commanding my feelings; become the slave and the plaything of my shameful desires and of my lustful passions!...  It must have happened.  Yes, it must have happened.  Sooner or later I was obliged to fall:  it is the chastisement of my presumption and pride.  Ah! wretch, you wish to subdue the flesh, you wish to reform nature, you wish to be wiser than God.  They tried at the seminary by means of nenuphar and infusions of nitre to quench in you the desires of youth and its rebellious passion.  Vain efforts, senseless attempts, which served only to retard your fall.  In vain you try, in vain you struggle, in vain you invoke the angels and call God to your aid; there comes a time, a moment, a minute, a second, in which all your life of struggles and efforts is lost.  The angry flesh subdues you in its turn, baffled nature revolts, and the Creator, whose laws you have not recognized, abandons the worthless creature and lets him roll over, falling into an abyss of iniquity.

Oh! my God! where is all this going to bring me?  What will become of me?  How can I show my brow all covered with shame?  Is not my infamy written there?...  She, she, what will she think of me?...  To kiss her hand, her soft perfumed hand.  Oh God, God all-powerful, where am I? where am I going?  I said it; martyrdom or shame!  It is shame which awaits me.

So spoke the Cure, when Marianne had taken away her young mistress, and his conscience exaggerated the gravity and the consequences of his imprudent rapture.

—­Yes, it is shame, it is shame.

—­Do not despair in this way, said a jeering voice.

Marcel turned round, terror-struck.

His servant was behind him.

She had approached, noiselessly, and was looking at him with her strange, green eyes.

—­Shame lies in scandal, she added sententiously.  Reassure yourself; that pretty young lady will hold her tongue.

She spoke low, slowly, with perfect calm, and each word penetrated the priest’s heart like a steel blade.

Like all persons ashamed of having been caught, he put himself in a passion.

—­You! he cried.  You here?  Who called you?  You were not gone to bed then?  What do you want?  What have you just been doing?  You are always listening then at the doors?