"What can I do for you?" The priest was a young man somewhat inclined to corpulence.
"Receive my confession," said she, "and counsel me, sustain me, tell me what to do."
He replied: "I confess every Saturday from three to six."
Seizing his arm she repeated: "No, now, at once—at once! It is necessary! He is here! In this church! He is waiting for me."
The priest asked: "Who is waiting for you?"
"A man—who will be my ruin if you do not save me. I can no longer escape him—I am too weak—too weak."
She fell upon her knees sobbing: "Oh, father, have pity upon me. Save me, for God's sake, save me!" She seized his gown that he might not escape her, while he uneasily glanced around on all sides to see if anyone noticed the woman at his feet. Finally, seeing that he could not free himself from her, he said: "Rise; I have the key to the confessional with me."
Du Roy having walked around the choir, was sauntering down the nave, when he met the stout, bold man wandering about, and he wondered: "What can he be doing here?"
The man slackened his pace and looked at Georges with the evident desire to speak to him. When he was near him, he bowed and said politely: