"You have heard from him?"
She shook her head.
"I have never heard from Jean since the day he left Bernay-sur-Mer"—she was plucking with her fingers at the skirt of the priest's soutane.
There was a long silence, broken at last by the old priest's deep sigh.
"You still love Jean, my child?" he asked gently.
"I have always loved him," she said simply.
Father Anton fumbled with his spectacles. His heart had grown very heavy. It seemed that the cruelest, saddest thing in the world had happened.
"Tell me about him!" she demanded eagerly. "You see him every day, father."
"I have not seen Jean in many months," he replied sadly.
"Not seen him!" she echoed in consternation. "But he is here—in Paris—isn't he?"