However, the rain had now quite ceased.  The three cats of the parsonage filed out into the yard one after the other, keeping close to the wall, and taking the greatest precautions to avoid wetting their paws.  They peeped into the stable, and then stalked up to the sleeping girl, and lay down, purring, close by her.  Moumou, the big black cat, curled itself up close to her cheek, and gently licked her chin.

‘And Serge?’ murmured Albine, quite mechanically.

What was it that kept them apart?  Who was it that prevented them from being happy together?  Why might she not love him, and why might she not be loved, freely and in the broad sunlight, as the trees lived and loved?  She knew not, but she felt that she had been forsaken, and had received a mortal wound.  Yet she was possessed by a stubborn, determined longing, a very necessity, indeed, of once more clasping her love in her arms, of concealing him somewhere, that he might be hers in all felicity.  She rose to her feet.  The vestry door had just been opened again.  A clapping of hands sounded, followed by the uproar of a swarm of children clattering in wooden shoes over the stone flags.  The catechising was over.  Then Albine gently glided out of the stable, where she had been waiting for an hour amidst the reeking warmth that emanated from Desiree’s pets.

As she quietly slipped through the passage that led to the vestry, she caught sight of La Teuse, who was going to her kitchen, and who fortunately did not turn her head.  Certain, now, of not being seen and stopped, Albine softly pushed the door which was before her, keeping hold of it in order that it might make no noise as it closed again.

And she found herself in the church.

VIII

At first she could see nobody.  Outside, the rain had again begun to fall in fine close drops.  The church looked very grey and gloomy.  She passed behind the high altar, and walked on towards the pulpit.  In the middle of the nave, there were only a number of empty benches, left there in disorder by the urchins of the catechism class.  Amidst all this void came a low tic-tac from the swaying pendulum.  She went down the church to knock at the confessional-box, which she saw standing at the other end.  But, just as she passed the Chapel of the Dead, she caught sight of Abbe Mouret prostrated before the great bleeding Christ.  He did not stir; he must have thought that it was only La Teuse putting the seats in order behind him.

But Albine laid her hand upon his shoulder.

‘Serge,’ she said, ‘I have come for you.’

The priest raised his head with a start.  His face was very pale.  He remained on his knees and crossed himself, while his lips still quivered with the words of his prayer.

‘I have been waiting for you,’ she continued.  ’Every morning and every evening I looked to see if you were not coming.  I have counted the days till I could keep the reckoning no longer.  Ah! for weeks and weeks——­ Then, when I grew sure that you were not coming, I set out myself, and came here.  I said to myself:  “I will fetch him away with me.”  Give me your hand and let us go.’