at the august and sublime hour of holy communion, he expected to hear the voice of Jesus speaking to his heart and announcing the line of conduct he ought to follow.  The abbe was afraid of betraying uneasiness, if he insisted on probing this “Christian mystery,” so he returned with this answer, which was least of all calculated to reassure me.  He did not appear again either at the castle or in the neighbourhood, and kept himself so closely shut up in the convent that few people ever saw his face.  However, it soon became known, and the prior was most active in spreading the news, that John Mauprat had been converted to the most zealous and exemplary piety, and was now staying at the Carmelite convent for a term, as a penitent from La Trappe.  Every day they reported some fresh virtuous trait, some new act of austerity of this holy personage.  Devotees, with a thirst for the marvellous, came to see him, and brought him a thousand little presents, which he obstinately refused.  At times he would hide so well that people said he had returned to his monastery; but just as we were congratulating ourselves on getting rid of him, we would hear that he had recently inflicted some terrible mortifications on himself in sackcloth and ashes; or else that he had gone barefooted on a pilgrimage into some of the wildest and most desolate parts of Varenne.  People went so far as to say that he could work miracles.  If the prior had not been cured of his gout, that was because, in a spirit of true penitence, he did not wish to be cured.

This state of uncertainty lasted almost two months.

XXI

These days, passed in Edmee’s presence, were for me days of delight, yet of suffering.  To see her at all hours, without fear of being indiscreet, since she herself would summon me to her side, to read to her, talk with her on all subjects, share the loving attentions she bestowed on her father, enter into half her life exactly as if we had been brother and sister—­this was great happiness, no doubt, but it was a dangerous happiness, and again the volcano kindled in my breast.  A few confused words, a few troubled glances betrayed me.  Edmee was by no means blind, but she was impenetrable; her dark and searching eyes, fixed on me as on her father, with the solicitude of an absorbing affection, would at times suddenly grow cold, just as the violence of my passion was ready to break out.  Her countenance would then express nothing but patient curiosity and an unswerving resolve to read to the bottom of my soul without letting me see even the surface of her own.