"My father, I want to have another child," she said abruptly, like a coward throwing himself headlong into the danger he dreads.
The priest, hardly understanding what she meant, made no answer, and she tried to explain herself, but, in her confusion, her words became more and more difficult to understand.
"I am quite alone in life now; my father and my husband do not agree; my mother is dead, and—and— the other day I almost lost my son," she whispered with a shudder. "What would have become of me if he had died?"
The priest looked at her in bewilderment. "There, there; come to the point," he said.
"I want to have another child," she repeated.
The abbé was used to the coarse pleasantries of the peasants, who did not mind what they said before him, and he answered, with a sly smile and a knowing shake of the head: "Well, I don't think there need be much difficulty about that."
She raised her clear eyes to his and said, hesitatingly:
"But—but—don't you understand that since—since that trouble with—the—maid—my husband and I live—quite apart."
These words came as a revelation to the priest, accustomed as he was to the promiscuity and easy morals of the peasants. Then he thought he could guess what the young wife really wanted, and he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, pitying her, and sympathizing with her distress.
"Yes, yes, I know exactly what you mean. I can quite understand that you should find your—your widowhood hard to bear. You are young, healthy, and it is only natural; very natural." He began to smile, his lively nature getting the better of him. "Besides, the Church allows these feelings, sometimes," he went on, gently tapping Jeanne's hands. "What are we told? That carnal desires may be satisfied lawfully in wedlock only. Well, you are married, are you not?"